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honey-dewey · 3 years

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When I’m Older and I’m Wiser

Pairing: Marcus Moreno/ Dentist Reader

Word Count: 4,262

Warnings: General medical fic involving dentistry and recovering from wisdom tooth surgery. Mentions of pills, blood, needles, and Marcus being very high. Some use of (F/N) (L/N), but not much.

How the hell Marcus Moreno has gotten this far in his life without getting his wisdom teeth removed is beyond you. But that fateful day comes, and honestly you really should just quit being the Heroic’s dentist because it’s probably taking years off your life. Mostly because your current patient is very cute, very high, and in your care for the next 24 hours, which is a dangerous combination.

“Ow.”

Missy looked over from where she’d been getting a second glass of milk, turning her attention to her dad. Marcus was staring at the eggs on his plate, seemingly frozen. The look on his face could only be described as offended, as if the eggs had just bit him back.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, sitting back down and nudging Marcus with her foot.

“Hurts,” Marcus mumbled, putting a hand to his cheek. The last thing he had expected was pain upon eating scrambled eggs, but it was there.

Missy shrugged, digging into her own eggs. “Could it be a cavity?”

Marcus shook his head, moving his hand to his other cheek. “Both sides.”

“Two cavities?”

Giving Missy a playful dirty look, Marcus took another bite of eggs, face scrunching when the pain persisted.

Missy raised an eyebrow, and Marcus suddenly regretted having a tiny powerhouse of a daughter. “When was the last time you saw Dr. (L/N)?”

“Uh,” Marcus squirmed a bit under her judgmental gaze, thinking back. “I made an appointment right before your mother passed, but then she died and we were in mourning, and then I quit actively hero-ing full time, and then I took a while off to raise you, and then I started my new job, and then I was kidnapped by aliens, so I dunno. A few years?”

“A few years?” Missy said, cocking her head slightly. “You make me go every six months!”

“You’re still growing!” Marcus defended. “I’d be an awful parent if I didn’t keep up with your health.”

Missy sighed. “Please tell me you’ve seen an actual doctor recently.”

Marcus nodded. “Saw my GP last month.”

“Good,” Missy said. “Can you see Dr. (L/N) today please?”

Again, Marcus nodded. “Y’know, sometimes I wonder just who’s running this household.”

“It’s me.”

“I know kiddo. I know.”

Their drive to Heroic headquarters was silent, but comfortable, as it usually was. Marcus parked, the throbbing in his jaw just getting worse as he and Missy got on the bus into headquarters. Missy broke off in the reception area, heading down the hall with a wave. Marcus waved back, smiling at her as she disappeared.

Wiping his hands on his shirt, Marcus walked up to the receptionist, who gave him a friendly smile. “Hello Marcus, what can I do for you?”

“Hey Rhea,” Marcus said, leaning slightly on the counter. “When’s my first meeting?”

Rhea hummed, putting his name into the computer and clicking a few times. “Looks like your earliest meeting is at 2:30.”

“Awesome,” Marcus groaned. “Does Dr. (L/N) have any available appointments in the morning?”

“Has someone been skipping out on the dentist?” Rhea said jokingly, moving to a different computer screen. “Was it Missy who made you go?”

“Yeah.”

Rhea laughed. “That kid,” she said softly. “And you’re in luck. Dr. (L/N) has an available appointment in half an hour, at nine. I’ll get you set up with it, okay?”

Marcus sighed. “Yeah, that works. Thank you Rhea. I’ll see you later.”

He waited for his appointment in the hero lounge, reading a book and chewing absently on his thumb nail. When his watch read ten 'til nine, he put his book in his bag and began to make his way down to the medical wing of the building.

The medical wing was not one Marcus was in frequently. He knew some of the staff, but not all of them. But he waved to them all the same, eventually reaching the dentist’s section with five minutes to spare.

“Mr. Moreno!” The nurse behind the reception counter said cheerily. “I thought it had to be a mistake when I saw you had an appointment.”

“Please,” Marcus said. “Just Marcus will do.”

The nurse nodded. “Of course. The doctor will be right out. You’re her first of the day, and honestly, I think she thought your name was a typo too. It’s been too long.”

Marcus sighed. “Yeah. Missy chewed me out about that earlier.”

“I’ll bet.” The nurse gestured to a row of chairs. “Take a seat. I’ll go see if the doc is ready.”

Marcus sat down, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs in an effort to calm his nerves.

“Moreno?”

He looked up, heart suddenly beating fast. Standing in the doorway that separated the waiting room from the actual office was Dr. (L/N), looking very expectant and a tiny bit disappointed.

———

Marcus stood, following you back into the office. His steps behind you were nervous, a high contrast to the confident clicking of your shoes.

“Long time no see,” you said, pushing open a door and gesturing Marcus into the exam room. “What finally brought you back?”

“Aside from Missy?” Marcus asked, sitting in the chair and rocking his left foot back and forth on the ankle. “I woke up this morning and it hurt to eat breakfast.”

You nodded, washing your hands and donning a pair of gloves. “And there wasn’t any pain last night?”

“Maybe a tiny bit.” Marcus watched you sit on a rolling stool, moving so you were just at his side. “But nothing I was worried about.”

You crossed your legs, thinking. “Did you do any intense training in the past 24 hours?”

“Nothing involving my head.”

“Well then it’s probably just a cavity or two,” you decided, rolling closer to Marcus’s head and putting both feet on the floor. “Let’s take a look, get some x-rays, and see if we can’t have you feeling better soon.”

You adjusted the chair so Marcus was staring up at the ceiling, and at a large space mobile you’d hung ages ago. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

You smiled, pulling a mask up over your nose. “Relax Marcus. I’m not gonna hurt you on purpose.”

Marcus still squirmed a bit as you examined his mouth, your brows knitting tighter and tighter as you realized this wasn’t a simple case of a few cavities.

“Marcus,” you said slowly, sitting him up and tugging your mask down under your chin. “You’re in your forties, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Please tell me you don’t still have your wisdom teeth.”

Marcus shrugged. “I don’t know. Why? Is that a bad thing?”

“Most people have theirs removed when they’re teenagers,” you explained, pulling down the x-ray machine. “That way, there’s less risk of nerve damage. It’s not a bad thing to have them removed later in life, but it does come with higher risks.”

“Oh.” The reassurance didn’t comfort Marcus much as you softly directed him through the various x-rays.

You pulled the piece of plastic out of his mouth as the final x-ray hit your computer. “Sorry about that,” you said, watching Marcus rub his face. “I know it sucks. But, good news, I have an answer for you.”

You let Marcus turn so he was facing your computer. “It’s definitely your wisdom teeth,” you said, tugging your gloves off and pointing at the computer screen. “See? All four of them are coming in, which is impressive. I can probably take them out tomorrow, honestly. Those suckers can get really painful really fast, so we’re gonna want to take care of it as soon as possible.”

Marcus paled. “Tomorrow?”

“That would be best.” You put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, it’ll be okay. I do one of these surgeries like, once a month. I know what I’m doing, and you’re going to be just fine.”

“Okay,” Marcus said, nodding and staring at you. “I believe you.”

You smiled. “Perfect. So I can schedule your surgery for super early tomorrow, I’m thinking around seven, maybe seven thirty. We wanna get it out of the way early because you can’t eat anything for twelve hours beforehand.” As you explained, you gathered some papers from a desk drawer. “I assume you want general anesthesia.”

“Is that the option where I sleep through it all?”

“Yep,” you said, stapling the papers together and handing them to Marcus. “As per protocol, we’re going to need reassurance you’ll be with a responsible adult guardian for at least forty eight, if not seventy two hours post surgery. The first twelve to twenty hour can be brutal, so you definitely want someone there during that.”

Marcus shook his head. “I haven’t got anyone besides my mom, who I assumed would be taking Missy while I healed.”

“That’s okay,” you promised. “We can get someone here to care for you for two days. You’d have to stay here at headquarters, but you’d be comfortable and cared for. Whatever you do, I’ll call in some pain prescriptions and the like for you to pick up after work today. Just see the pharmacy out front and they’ll give the pills to you.”

You stood, gesturing Marcus up. “So, to recap. Get here early tomorrow, no food after seven tonight, and wear comfy clothes. Most patients go with sweatpants, but you go with whatever is most comfortable to you. Bring a change of pyjamas and your prescriptions if you’re staying with us, and I’ll see you tomorrow Mr. Moreno,” you said as you led him back to the lobby.

Tomorrow came faster than anticipated, and before you knew it, it was seven AM and you were waiting for Marcus with your nurse beside you.

“Damn his mouth is messed up,” the nurse mumbled, looking over the x-rays. “All four?”

“All four,” you agreed, smiling as the lobby door opened. “Mr. Moreno! Follow me. I assume you stuck with the rules I gave you yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Marcus said, handing you the paper bag with his prescriptions and a small drawstring bag that presumably had clothes in it. “I’m gonna be staying here.”

“Perfect,” you said, pushing open the operating room door. “I see we’re dressed for the occasion.”

Marcus turned red, looking down at his soft black sleep pants and a worn out Fleetwood Mac shirt. “Yeah.”

You put Marcus’s stuff down on the counter, handing him a small white cup. “That is a super powerful mouthwash,” you explained. “Take it, and do try and keep it in your mouth for a minute. I know it tastes horrible.”

Marcus did try, but he only made it to thirty seconds before he had to spit out the disgustingly bitter mouthwash.

You laughed at his face, pulling on your gloves. “Alright Marcus, that works.”

He smiled softly, relaxing a tiny bit. “Thanks.”

“I wouldn’t thank anyone who made me take that stuff,” you said, grabbing a thin tube and holding it out. “That goes under your nose and over your ears, just like that,” you praised as Marcus threaded the tube over his ears. “Now, can I see your hand?”

Marcus let you clip a heart rate monitor to his right index finger, watching as you walked to his other side and held up the final thing. “And last, but not least.”

Immediately, Marcus looked extremely nervous again. You put down the IV line and rubbed his shoulder, trying to work away some of the tension. “Hey. Look at me. Just a pinch, and then you can take a nice long nap, okay? Deep breaths Marcus, deep breaths.”

Marcus took a breath, and you carefully took your hand off his shoulder. You slowly directed his head onto the chair’s headrest, still murmuring reassurances. “That’s it. Count the stars on my mobile out loud. I can’t remember how many there are.”

“Okay.” Marcus looked up, slowly counting out loud as you found his vein and stuck him with the IV line as quickly as you could. You administered some of the anesthesia, smiling as Marcus’s numbers began to slip and slide, until he wasn’t even counting as much as he was just mumbling out random mushy words.

“Goodnight Marcus.”

You gestured the nurse in, and she smiled, taking Marcus’s glasses and setting them on top of his other things. You finished off the anesthesia, watching Marcus’s eyes close.

When he woke again, it was to you pulling the IV line out and taping a cotton ball to his arm. “Wa’s happ’nin’?” He slurred around the cotton and the drugs.

“The surgery was a success,” you explained softly, despite Marcus not really understanding you. “All four teeth came out with no issue, and we’re about to take you to recovery. Oh, Marcus, keep your head up.”

Marcus struggled to keep his head upright, and you giggled, holding your hands out. “C’mon. Let’s get you into a real bed.”

You’d been through this with many patients before Marcus, but he seemed to be a stand-out, as you had some trouble getting him in the wheelchair and down the hallways into the recovery wing. He definitely fell under the ever entertaining category of ‘toddler high’ patients. His slurred words and puppy dog eyes made you laugh more than once on your way to his room. You actually had to stop and pause to laugh when he slurred out that he thought you were an Angel. He simply watched you with an exaggerated worried expression, half his words getting lost as he tried to mumble something out.

“What was that Marcus?” You asked, wiping your eyes and continuing down the hall with him.

“You’re tho prethy.” He said, head tipping down.

“Head up,” you coaxed softly, smiling despite yourself. “Look, there’s your room.”

Getting him in the room, which was more of a small, one person condo space, was thankfully the hardest part. But once you were in, he was very sleepy putty in your hands.

“Okay Marcus,” you said gently, helping him out of the wheelchair and onto the couch, piling a few pillows beneath his head “Do you want anything before you go to sleep?”

Marcus looked up at you. Between his cotton stuffed cheeks and his wide doe eyes, he looked a tiny bit ridiculous. You smiled, pulling out your phone and snapping a quick picture while he was still drugged as hell. “Marcus?”

“Mittenth.”

“What?”

Marcus pointed to his bag. “Mittenth.”

You walked over to the bag, opening it up and finding a black and white stuffed cat right on top. “Oh. Mittens.”

You handed the cat to Marcus, who immediately snuggled it to his chest and rolled over a bit, falling asleep instantly.

Again, you couldn’t help but stare. He looked so innocent like this, all curled up and sleeping. You hesitated to call him adorable, but if the shoe fit.

You sighed, picking up your phone and trailing into the single bedroom. Changing quickly into your leisure clothes, you texted one of the people at the pharmacy and requested a few ice packs and a wisdom tooth slushee. Both things were delivered in a matter of minutes, and you placed them securely in the small freezer to wait for Marcus.

When he woke up, he was significantly less high. Looking around, Marcus poked his cheeks and made a face. “I can’t feel my nose.”

“The entire bottom half of your face is numb,” you pointed out from your position at the two person table in the kitchen. “And believe me, you’re gonna want it to stay that way.”

Marcus sat up, looking over at you. “I’m hungry.”

“No solids for a while,” you told him, standing and grabbing his slushee. “But you can have this. And before you ask, yes you have to use the spoon.”

Marcus pouted, but took the slushee. “But the cotton.”

You nodded, settling on the couch next to him. “Open wide.”

Marcus did, allowing you to shove two fingers into his mouth and fish out the cotton. “Still bleeding,” you mumbled to yourself. “We’ll shove more in there when you’re done. For now,” You tipped the slushee at him. “Eat up.”

You turned your attention to the TV while Marcus ate slowly, taking tiny bites and occasionally sticking his tongue out. “It’s really numb.”

“That’ll fade by tomorrow morning,” you promised. “At noon I want you to take your first pills. Then you get more at one.”

Again, Marcus pouted, but simply sank lower into the couch cushions and mindlessly watched whatever was on TV. “Is my face swelling?”

You shrugged. “No more than other patients. But yeah, just a bit.”

“Do I look stupid?”

The question made you laugh. “Marcus, I’ve had so many ridiculous patients. You’re no worse than some of my other ones, I promise.”

Marcus accepted this and continued to take small bites of his slushee. “Why’s it gotta be blue?”

“Because blue isn’t even remotely close to red.” You didn’t even look up as you answered. “Same goes for when little kids get teeth pulled. You want something that’s soft, easy to swallow, and isn’t the color of blood.”

“Oh.”

You nodded. “Yeah. How’s your mouth feeling?”

Marcus mulled it over, eventually deciding on saying “Kinda achy.”

“I’ll give you those pills soon,” you said. “It’s gonna be tricky, considering any kind of anything touching those holes in your mouth is gonna hurt like a bitch.”

“Even water?”

“Even water.”

Marcus groaned, and you shrugged. “Sorry. But you’re the one who waited until now to do this.”

When Marcus finished his slushee, you grabbed a pill bottle off the kitchen counter, quickly glancing at the label and nodding. “Two of these,” you said, opening a cabinet and taking out a glass. “Come here.”

Marcus trudged over, leaning heavily against the counter’s edge. You put the two round pills on the counter, along with the glass of water. “Best to do it quickly. And one at a time.”

Picking up one of the pills, Marcus carefully put it on his tongue, taking the glass with a hesitant hand. He took a sip, swallowing quickly and audibly. “Can’t I use a straw?”

“Yeah,” you said sarcastically. “If you want dry socket, go ahead.”

“Do I want to know what that is?”

“Nope.” You pushed the second pill towards Marcus. “Take that, then you can lay back down.”

Marcus sighed, mirroring his previous action. However, instead of simply swallowing with a tight face, Marcus started, eyes filling with tears as he spit the water into the sink, the pill clattering against the metal.

You immediately began to worry as Marcus cried. It wasn’t a small tear or two either. He was full on sobbing, gripping the edges of the sink so tight his knuckles went white.

“Marcus,” you murmured, putting a hand on his arm. He looked up at you, and you put on your most comforting smile. “Hey, it’s okay.” You picked up a towel and slowly wiped the residual water off his face. “C’mere.”

He collapsed into your arms, going limp and continuing to cry. You rubbed his back, heart tightening whenever he let out a whimper of “hurts.”

“I know,” you said softly. “I know it hurts. But you have to take the pills.”

“Can’t,” Marcus hiccuped, burying himself deeper into your sweater.

“Marcus,” you said firmly, slowly untangling him from you. “I know it hurts. But you’ll be in more pain from not taking the pills. Please, for me?”

He took a breath. “Can we watch TV afterwards?”

You smiled. “Of course. I can give you ice for the swelling too.”

Marcus nodded, looking into the sink. “Do I take that one?”

“No,” you said, fishing a new pill out of the container. “It’s in the sink, I’m not gonna take that risk. Here.”

Marcus stared at the unassuming white pill in his hand. “Which one is this?”

“The acetaminophen.”

“The what?”

“Tylenol.”

Marcus nodded, popping the pill into his mouth and quickly gulping down the water. This time, he avoided hitting his stitches and simply handed you the glass. “I’m not doing that again.”

You took the glass, putting it in the sink. “You have more pills to take in an hour.”

Marcus groaned. “TV?”

“Of course,” you said, walking to the couch and smiling as Marcus fell onto it. “What do you wanna watch?”

Marcus turned his red rimmed puppy dog eyes on you. “Say Yes to the Dress?”

You laughed. “Are you serious? We can, but that’s not what I expected at all.”

“I like trash TV when I feel terrible.” Marcus grabbed Mittens and cuddled the stuffed cat to his chest.

You found the show, setting it up and standing. “More cotton. You're probably still bleeding, and we definitely don’t want that. Open.”

It took some finessing to get two more wads of cotton into Marcus’s mouth, but you succeeded, despite his complaints of feeling like a cartoon chipmunk.

“I’m gonna go start on dinner,” you said. “Are you gonna be okay here?”

Marcus pouted. “Do you have to start now?”

“Yeah.” You gestured to the kitchen. “Don’t worry, I’ll only be gone for twenty minutes. Soup just needs to sit for a while.”

Slightly consoled, Marcus zoned out at the TV while you got to work making a simple chicken noodle soup.

“Done,” you said, wiping your hands and walking back to the couch twenty minutes later. “Marcus, are you still awake?”

Marcus grumbled, holding his hands out. “C’mere.”

You passed him an ice pack, and he made a face. “Not what I want.”

“What do you want?”

As if somehow knowing they were your kryptonite, Marcus gave you his puppy dog eyes. “Wanna hold you.”

You sighed, but crawled into his arms anyway. When you finally settled, he was on his back, head and neck propped up on the arm of the couch, and you were on your side between the back of the couch and Marcus. He was warm, wrapping one arm loosely over your waist and using the other hand to press the ice into his cheek.

You quickly slid into a nice comfortable headspace, occasionally smiling when Marcus commented on the wedding dresses on screen.

“You dropped Mittens,” you realized after a while, shuffling to grab the discarded toy from the floor.

Marcus took Mittens, gently placing the cat on his chest, so that it was secure on his sternum.

“Does Mittens belong to Missy?”

“Belonged to Clara.”

“Oh.” You saw the change in demeanor, noticed how Marcus’s face steeled when he said her name. He rarely talked about Clara, especially at work. “I’m-“

“Nah,” Marcus said, shaking his head. “It’s the past. I’m happy now, and so is Mittens.”

You nestled deeper into his chest. “Happy right now?”

“Definitely happy right now,” Marcus said softly. “Very happy, even though I can’t feel my face.”

“Even if you could,” you mumbled, knowing where this was headed. “You can’t kiss anyone for a while.”

Marcus grinned. “I guess we’ll just have to wait then, won’t we?”

You mirrored his mischievous smile. “You can’t kiss,” you said, scooting upwards, until you were laying on top of Marcus, your belly on his ribs. “But I can.”

You lay gentle kisses across his cheeks, smiling when he laughed at your insistence upon kissing his nose. His cheeks were cold from the ice and tender from the swelling, but Marcus never tried to stop you, so you continued downwards, kissing the pulse points on his neck.

“You’re a damn tease,” Marcus huffed.

You simply smiled into his skin and tugged the collar of his shirt down, pressing firm kisses into the points of his collarbones.

“Hey,” Marcus nudged your head. “Can we finish this when I don’t have a mouth of stitches? I still can’t feel my tongue.”

“Of course,” you said, pushing his shirt collar back up and laying your head on his sternum. “How long?”

“Hm?”

You shrugged, watching a woman try on a stunning wedding dress on the TV. “How long have you wanted to kiss me?”

Marcus thought it over. “Last year,” he finally decided. “When Missy had three teeth out. You were so kind, and I just melted.”

“But you didn’t fall in love hard enough to ever pay me a visit,” you teased, tracing the faded symbol on his shirt.

“Didn’t ever want to go under and realize I’d spilled everything,” Marcus confessed.

You smiled. “Too late. You said I looked like an Angel in the hallway.”

Marcus turned bright red, and you laughed at him. “It’s okay,” you promised, kissing his cheek that didn’t have the ice pack. “I think you’re pretty handsome yourself.”

That night, after dinner and more pills and ice cream for dessert, you and Marcus settled down in the only bedroom, clinging to each other as if your lives depended on it.

Waking up was hard. Marcus was well enough to go home, most of the swelling gone and the numbness completely faded.

“So,” you clicked down the halls of the dentist’s office, Marcus behind you. “No really hot liquids for another few days, and try not to do solids until then either. That antibacterial mouthwash should be used twice a day, and you can start brushing your teeth again in two days. Remember, no straws, take your pills, keep icing your cheeks, and if I see you in this office before this time next week, I will be calling your mother.”

Marcus nodded as you pulled open the lobby door, where Anita and Missy were waiting. “Anything else Doctor?”

You shook your head. “You should be all clear Mr. Moreno. I’ll be seeing you for your check-up next week. Don’t you go skipping out on me now.”

Marcus smiled. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he promised, leaning a bit closer to you. “And I cannot wait to kiss you for real.”

He pulled away, leaving you flushed and dizzy. “See you next week Doctor.”

“See you next week Mr. Moreno.”

If you liked this, I do dialogue prompt requests as well! Go request something if you want!

#we can be heroes #marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x y/n #my writing #pedro pascal

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theficplug · 4 years

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|Next Lifetime|Erik Killmonger|

previous chapters : Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

erik killmonger x black reader

|part 4|

warnings: um definitely smut this chapter at the end. so 18+ for this chapter! and a possible trigger warning for grief but i promise it gets better and its a romcom.

synopsis: reader grieves Erik until she doesn’t (i’m trying not give too much away). This one is a long ass chapter. So, grab you a snack and something to drink! I hope y’all like it.

“You promised on our birthday that you would give me something far more special than the charms you would gift to me. In 2018, you wanted to avenge your birth parents and you went off and did something foolish and when you- when they returned you to me you were-.” you struggle for a bit to find the words to explain it all to him as he takes a step back to gather himself.

He rubs his eyes before grabbing your arms gently and massaging them . He leans down to look you in your eyes before asking “Ma, did you take something before I came to pick you up? You alright? Cause what you saying don’t make no sense at all... Your pupils don't look dilated though.”

“I know how this must sound. Batshit crazy. I know it sounds crazy to me too. I’m still trying to figure out if I’m losing my own damn mind. I don’t know how or why. I just know that you came back to me.” you say to him and he shakes his head.

“Erik. You’re talking about your ex boyfriend...The one that passed... . Alright, I’m going to take you home now... I still don’t understand what’s going on here and I’ve had about all I can take of trying to understand what’s going on here.” N’Jadaka says quietly to you before going around and opening your car door.

The drive was silent as you picked at your nails and let the soft r&b roll over the tension between the two of you.

Your own thoughts were going in about a billion different directions again. It didn’t feel right to just sit on all of that and not say anything at all. As ripped from a science fiction film as it sounded at least he knows.

He was never one to think quietly because you could practically read his thoughts with the changing of expressions across his face.

The relief of seeing your building washed over you as he offered to walk you to your door.

It was bittersweet because there was still so much of him in this different version of him. Even when he was upset with you or livid with whatever ghost that was haunting him back then, he still showed nothing but tenderness to you.

You nod and give him a small smile before following him up the stairs , to your elevator, and finally your door.

“I know that this is a lot. I mean who in their right mind would be able to process all of that.I wish there was any other way to say it... But thank you, I had a really nice time.” your soft words snap him out of staring at your face as if he was trying to piece it all together.

He knew deep down that there was something about you and what happened that weekend while dreaming in colours and other worlds but he couldn’t wrap his head around all of this happening in real life.

You lean up to kiss his cheek and he grabs your shoulders softly. “With all due respect. You seem like a lovely person and a good woman, but I just - this all a lil too weird for me and I don’t think it’s a good idea that we continue seeing each other.”

He kisses your hand and leaves with one look over your shoulder as you call out “Meet me at our spot. If you are still anywhere in there. You’ll know what I mean.”

“What the hell happened ? I didn’t expect you back until tomorrow morning?” Iri says as she settles on the other side of the sofa and patted the spot next to her as you kick off the sandals and lay your head on her lap with tears already prickling your eyes.

“Oh you didn’t? Please don’t tell me you told him about the soulmate reincarnation thing? Sweets, you probably scared the hell out of that man. We needed you to keep that waaay down in the vault.” Tiki adds as she pops the cork off the bottle of wine in her hand and pauses the movie playing on the screen in the background.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do . You’re gonna text him and tell him that you had just gotten your wisdom teeth removed earlier today and the meds had you unexpectedly zooted as fuck. “ Iri suggests and you chuckle softly.

---

Meanwhile at N’Jadaka’s house he was already being pestered by Lina and Penn for some type of details about what happened during the date. Orleans was already in the kitchen cooking and ear hustling but went back to his conversation on the phone with Big Mike when he realized there wasn’t any tea.

“I don’t feel good. I’m finna go lay down. I’ll talk to y’all in the morning”. He says simply to them before trudging his way to his part of the house.

They had been friends since college and just got used to the idea of living together as they did in the dorms so they made it work after graduation.

It helped them save money for when they finally separated and all of their schedules kept them busy so they didn't have time to get sick of each other. They also knew him well enough to know when something was bothering him and to leave him alone when he gets this moody.

"What the fuck?" He whispered under his breath

"What the fuck was all that?" He continues talking to himself as he strips and walks past the bathroom mirror to the shower.

He stops when something catches his eye. He sees a birthmark on his chest that almost resembles the shape of claw marks. He lets his fingers linger over the mark for a second. Thoughts of a panther mask clouded his memories for a moment before he shook his head and entered the shower.

---

A few hours later of talking through it with your girls about possibly seeing a therapist about all that's going on and you were ready for bed.

It didn't take long to drift off, you were ready to put the whole thing behind you.

The familiar setting of purples , pinks, and hues of blue came into focus and you looked around letting the butterflies land on you again.

You walk through the flowers and find Erik sitting by a stream of water weaving some of the flowers together.

"What the hell, E?" You ask as you run over to him and wrap your arms around his neck

He turns to you and smiles big , his dimples on full display before shrugging.

"It ain't perfect but it's the best I could do. They said it's like a do-over or something like that. I get a second chance but as a result of the way I did things the first time it's a lil different. Like when you restore a computer and it lose all it's files and shit. I get a new life but I'm still kinda stuck. I kinda like it though. I don't remember all the other shit when I'm awake. It really is like starting over. Shits crazy to explain when you think about it. But for you , you already know. I'd find you in this life and the next and the one after that. I don’t think I’mma ever fully remember what happened with all of that when i’m awake. I’m cool with it. It ain’t something I’m tryna remember." He says tipping your chin up to look at you and kissing you softly

"I know. At least I get to hold you in the real world. It's just different. But guess what I saw today? I seen that bench that you and me signed all them years back. It's still there." You say to him and he places the lil flower bracelet around your wrist as y'all sit and talk for the rest of the night.

By the time you wake up with the aroma of breakfast wavering throughout the loft you feel a little better about the whole situation with Erik, not Erik.

You opened your phone and sent him an I'm sorry gif with a few extra words inspired by Tina's wisdom tooth lie.

After easing into the kitchen and standing in the doorway you see the two lovebirds dancing around the kitchen singing to each other and laying food on the plates.

"Morning lil sleepy head. Don't forget that I'll still be coming down to the center with you today for the seminar. You hungry?" Iris asks as she places the plate in your hands with a kiss to the top of the head.

"Of course. There's a young girl, Sophie there that I really think would love to talk to you. She's just starting her transition. And her parents are wonderful but they don't really have much money. She hasn't really had the chance to get more “feminine” presenting clothes and she likes makeup. " You say and she nods catching your drift.

"Well it'd brighten anybody's day seeing a beautiful successful trans woman like myself honey. But let's lift her spirits even more. I'm gonna bring some of the makeup I got from pr packages and some of the clothes from this collection. I really hope it helps." She answers and Tika just saunters over to her proclaiming her love for her.

"Alright alright alright. I get it. I'm single as hell." You say laughing softly

---

Two weeks ticked by with radio silence on N'Jadaka's end. After the 4th day when he gave you the cold shoulder at a coffee shop, you decided to stop trying.

Maybe it wasn't fate and maybe you were just believing what you wanted to believe.

You reason with yourself as you walked around the loft making notes about the new housing project you were working on.

Finally having the house to yourself with the lovebirds gone for the day on a little adventure. You got to work budgeting and calling different areas to rent out apartments to you for women and lgbtq+ with housing insecurities.

Your ramblings and thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door , thinking that Iri or Tika left something behind.

"I told you to take your sunscre- Daka?" You question as he stands in front of you

You cross your arms and furrow your brows while waiting for an answer from him.

He stands for a moment like he’s trying to gather all of his thoughts together in a way that makes sense to both of you.

"What're you doing here?" You ask putting your hand on your hip.

He drops his shoulders and lets out a soft sigh before looking at you.

"I didn't wanna believe it. What you said that night cause like how the fuck does something like that happen? I’mma be honest. I wanted to just believe that you were a lil off and leave it at that but something keeps telling me that you right. I can't remember shit before college and all I wanted to do was be with you. From the moment I met you in the store. I was like, this is it. This is what's missing. A piece to a puzzle that's all jumbled up." He admits and you nod slowly before letting him in.

You walk around the kitchen getting a cup of tea for yourself and sitting a cup of coffee down on the counter for him.

“Don’t worry it’s black, I know you dont like it sweet.”

"You know I didn't exactly expect my fiancee that I buried months before to show up at a damn supermarket of all places. This isn't some movie or fanfiction. These kind of things don't happen in real life. Daka you, you had claw marks all over you. The last time I laid eyes on you. And now you're here in front of me. I thought that I was losing my mind." You say and he starts to unbutton his shirt.

"These." He says peeling his shirt off and showing you the birthmarks on his chest and shoulder.

You trace your fingers over it before leaning your head on his shoulder.

"I asked my parents about my childhood and when I passed by my old neighborhood a few days ago andI remembered some things. I remember what happened to my other parents, in pieces. Shit’s brutal." He says dropping his gaze

"It's okay." You whisper to him and wrap your arms around him. You rocked him for a moment letting him let all of those feelings wash over him.

He embraced you for a moment before kissing you tenderly. You tug at his bottom lip before deepening the kiss when he press you against the counter.

"We'll figure it out... Something telling me I'd be a fuckin fool to lose you again." He says quietly against yours lips.

"Are you gonna make love to me or are you going to keep looking at me like that?" You ask as he studies your whole face like he's looking at art.

"A memory. It's you. We stood right here and I kissed you the same way. You were saying something like "you bring yourself home to me"." He says and you nod frantically, holding him closer to you.

"I did. It was right before you left." You admit and he nods before lifting you up onto the counter and kissing you heatedly this time. He kisses down to your breasts before looking up at permission from you to unhook your bra.

Always a man that knows what he's doing. He takes kisses around your breasts and nipples. He takes his time to lick and caress you until he works his way down.

You shake your head yes before moving to slide off your panties but his kisses and his mouth is already beating you to it as he kisses down to your thigh.

He slides your panties off with his teeth and tosses them over his shoulder.

You tilt your head back as you feel him wasting no time massaging over your clit and working you over with his fingers, curling them and stroking you gently.

Your soft moans fill the room when he hooks your leg over his shoulder and begins to suckle your clit softly , swirling his tongue over it.

"Tika will kil- Ooh god. How does your tongue feel like it's vibrating?" You ask and he only chuckles and grips onto your cheeks to bring you closer to him.

He was feasting on and devouring you like he was going to lose again and you could grind your hips down against his tongue and moan his name sweetly.

He didn't stop his tongue or fingers working in you until your legs are shaking and you're gripping at his head.

"You have- fuck. I'm a squir-" you moan his name brokenly while trying to get out your words and lean back for a moment licking his lips before realizing what you're trying to say.

"Hold that for me. I wanna come with you." He says to you and you pout and protest as he removes his fingers. He picks you up off the counter and carries you bridal style asking you which room is yours.

"Left , left." You giggle into his shoulder as he helps you slide your dress off and you unbutton his jeans for him.

You capture him in a kiss for a moment feeling his soft plump lips against yours again for the first time in what feels like forever.

"It's been a long time since I've done all of this. . . Gentle." You say and he runs a calloused finger over your cheek moving a curl away from your face as he looks at you.

He gets a quick flash of a memory of you and him in bed. You wore a smile on your face before telling him "happy anniversary".

He trailed his fingers down your body remembering almost every scar , every moment.

When Erik got to a scar at your side. He chuckled, unlocking a memory of you two running from the neighborhood rottweiler , Smokey.

That old ass dog hated you and he hoisted you over the fence first after being out late one night in high school. The gate had caught your side when you jumped.

Erik felt so bad he brought you food from anywhere you wanted everyday from to school for a month.

He leans down to place open mouthed kisses to it.

He traced over your thighs to the cellulite and stretch marks remembering when you first got them.

He was moving homes at the time and he wasn't ready to be further away from you yet. You two just sat for hours at the park in the grass, talking.

" You know white men behind all of that anyways. They want y'all to feel like you gotta look the same way. That's how they make them billions. My mama had 'em . Yo mama , and generations back. And it ain't ever stop them from being the women they are. Besides if any dirtneck nigga ever try you , just tell me. Imma handle it." He would say as you sat with your head on his lap, staring at the sun setting, knowing good and well your grandparents were gonna ground you for being late when you get home.

They never did though cause you were with Erik they knew you were gonna be alright.

"Nothing to worry about. I… I've never done any of that stuff before…Have you?" you question hesitantly as you stare off.

"Tisha. From Ms. Wilkes class. We was coming from the kick back-"

"Uh uh . That's your business , you ain't gotta tell me all of that." You say slightly upset at the fact that Tisha of all people was his first.

----

"I got you." He says kissing your forehead then your nose before hooking your leg over his hip and easing into you slowly while his lips are still on yours. His eyes never left yours as he cupped your face sweetly like he didn't want to lose you again.

In this moment he gets a glimpse of prom night and how things changed between the both of you forever.

He wraps his hands around your waist. One of his hands splayed across your belly.

He remembers the pregnancy scare you both had afterwards with him holding your hand and telling you no matter what happens he wanna be there for both of you.

Luckily, nothing came of it but you were definitely closer because of it.

You let out an open mouthed gasp at the feeling of being so full of him after so long.

You rest your hands on his neck and shoulder and he bottoms out fully settling into you as he moves his arms next to balance himself.

You close your eyes as he begins to stroke into you trying to set a rhythm for you as his praises for you fall from his lips.

He kisses his way down your neck licking the marks that are already starting to form there.

"My lil baby." He mutters out after licking a freshly formed hickey forming on top of your breasts.

You open your eyes slowly , looking at him and the way he's looking at you .

"It's been way too long since I've heard that from you. You're remembering?" You ask quietly as you let out a soft moan.

N'Jadaka's muscles flex and tighten as he picks up his pace. His abs clenched as he pulls out almost completely and filled you at a different angle.

The sounds of your moans filling the room with every stride and stroke of his hips, it seems like you're closer to floating in space. The man was fucking you like his life depended on it and at this point all you could do is wrap your arms around him again to comfort you as he shutters and rolls his hips deeper into you. Your walls tighten around him as you relish in the feeling of him.

"Fuck. I remember all of it." He says half chuckling at the way it's coming to him and half nearly in tears cause he really missed being with you.

"I also remember that this is your favourite position cause you like to see my face." He teases before leaning down to kiss you again with them plump ass lips.

"E?" You ask , grabbing his face with trembling hands.

"Baby?" You ask again

He moves his hands from your waist and places your hands in his. Then moving them above your head as he flashes in between making love to you for the last time and now.

You roll over with him and place your hands on your chest riding him slowly getting the rhythm as he strokes into you from below.

He laughs softly when he realizes what you're doing.

"Are you spelling my fucking name , baby?" He asks and you tell him that you can spell both.

You let out a whimper when he brushes your spot and let him take over as he runs his hands over your thighs to your butt and over your back as he strokes into you.

He plants his feet on the bed and work your hips in rhythm with him.

It didn't take long for you to orgasm with a loud shriek of his name . You had forgotten how he gets when he's close as his hands on gripping all over your thighs and your back. You were already feeling sensitive with your second orgasm coming through and this man felt like he was trying to put it in your belly.

He rolls you onto your side giving it to you deeply.

With a loud hiss and panting from him he cums , holding you in his arms.

"I don't think it has felt like that since our birthday last year." He says into your ear as he pulls you closer into his arms.

He engulfs you fully in his embrace and presses a kiss to the side of your head.

You laugh softly and roll over to face him , resting your forehead against his.

"I remember. You took me to Paris. I had never been and at the time I was obsessed with everything Parisian. We fucked on the balcony and somehow I ended up popping the straps to my favorite dress. You still owe me by the way." You tease and he shakes his head laughing.

"I think we ended up saving they marriage from across the way though. They was arguing the whole time. Then they gon watch us like we ain't see them." Erik says laughing as he squeezes your thigh playfully.

"I know they was trying some things." You joke

"I missed you so much. You don't even understand." You admit with a somehow saddened and relieved expression.

"I know. I want to start over this time. All of that Erik Killmonger shit is over with. I wanna keep the name N'Jadaka and just start over. All of that was too heavy on me to carry. I wanna let it all go. I wanna do it right with you." He explains

"Good because if you put me through that again. Wakanda will be the least of your damn worries." You say to him and he nods giving you his word, sealed with a kiss.

"It'll be alright. Everything happens for a reason. And I think that right now a bath needs to happen and I'm gonna need you to do that thing again that you did in the kitchen cause I'm tryna figure out when you learned that-"

At some point after the bubble bath/ shower combo you were both out like a light until Iri and Tika decide to come busting in like they usually do with little gifts and food for you.

"Guess who's your fave- SHE GOT A WHOLEASS MAN IN HER BED" Iri announces to Tika before your pillow hits the door as she closes it.

"Sorry about that. This is kinda our cuddle hour so they're used to just coming on in." You say sleepily and he just laughs it off while holding you closer.

"It's all good. I remember that I ain't know them much before but when we did spend time with them, they were good people." He says, still trying to piece it together.

----

You fell asleep more peacefully than you had in a long time. Now granted, good sex didn't fix the many layers of issues and mysticism surrounding everything.

But for now, you knew that you had him, you had your girls, family and your business. Everything felt alright again.

Right up until the point of sleeping through the first alarm to meet the property owners.

"Bae. Bae your phone going off." N'Jadaka whispers in the dark room , voice still riddled with sleep and grogginess.

"Shit. Shit. I'm gonna be so late." You call out , quickly jumping out of bed and stumbling around the room.

It takes you about 25 minutes to speed through getting dressed in your best skirt suit.

N'Jadaka sits on the end of the bed putting on his shoes and watching you shuffle around.

He had offered to drive you there and stay with you and check out the property with you.

He slows you down by grabbing you by your arms gently and placing a kiss to your lips.

"Good morning, handsome. Let's go"

You walk through the living room with Iri and Tika already posted up in the kitchen placing two breakfast burritos in a container to grab and go.

You grab your things from the counter all while thanking them and jetting towards the door.

"Good luck pooh!" Tika calls after you.

"Byyyyeeee Dakaaaa" they call out after him

---

"Here it is . These are the apartments. I know they don't look like much now from the outside. But from the pictures it looks great. And they'll be safe and comfortable here-" you babble on to N'Jadaka while you both stand outside of the building where Erik grew up , until you notice two women walking to a car that clearly wasn't from this area.

You notice Shuri and your breath hitches in your throat.

Frozen in your anxiety, the seconds ticked by and it was too late to leave. She looked you dead in the eye and then at N'Jadaka like she had seen a ghost.

She gasped and Nakia followed the eyes before back into the car.

"SHURI WAIT - PLEASE" you yell out to them but the car was already speeding away.

tag list : @doublesidedscoobysnacks @chaneajoyyy @mirandkimy @doitforthevine67 @amyhennessyhouse @dasia21 @depressionandfandomsinc @sinfully-dope @ambitionwood @heybriheyyy @wholelotta-melanin @theesotericqueen @mbakuwife @spookys-girl @teardropzih @bigchoose @ceo-of-baby @sweetpeachjones @lost-ssoull @shyblackgurl @justpeachee @nijajoha @imayhavemisunderstood @beautifullmelodyxx @alookintohersoul @rbhp @champagnesugamama @just-peachee @almeda-344 @mahogany2021

#black panther #erik killmonger #black panther smut #erik killmonger smut #Erik killmonger x Reader #fanfic for black girls

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orbitariums · 4 years

Text

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 | 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 (𝟏𝟏)

notes: y’all !!! this is the smut you have been waiting forrrr, and then some! lemme know yalls thoughts!! luh u. adding tags later! ♡

playlist ( always updating! )

warnings: smut!, unprotected sex (but be safe! also miss yn will not be getting pregnant. it ain't that typa story), cuteness and rainy days <3, talk about diets

word count: 14.3k

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧: 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬

When you woke up, your legs were entangled with Steve's, your arms out in front of you and his arms draped over your stomach. He woke up a bit earlier than you had, but he stayed there, not wanting to disrupt you or leave you. It took you a moment to settle into the day, the blur before your eyes disappearing slowly. Then, Steve's touch against your body registered, and you sighed, sprawling out before him, absentmindedly pressing your backside into his crotch. Your eyes shot open when you felt the very obvious and abnormally large bulge prodding into you that Steve was trying to withhold.

Normally you might have tried to initiate something, tried to tease him even more, but even though the sheer size of the bulge caused a twinge in your stomach, you snapped back to reality easily. Everything became very apparent: where you were, who you were with.

"You up?" Steve asked, his morning voice quiet and warm with a side of gruff.

"Mmm," you sighed, turning over to face him. You smiled, fondling his face gently with your fingers. "Yeah. Morning."

Steve returned the smile, almost becoming giddy like a child on Christmas at the touch of your hand on his face and the sound of your slightly raspy yet dulcet morning voice.

"Did you sleep well?" Steve asked, and you chuckled, patting his cheek once,

"You're a gentleman. And yes, I did," you leaned in to kiss his lips, sweet and soft.

You did it casually, as if you always woke up next to each other in the morning, but in reality it was magical. The touch of your lips against his was still so foreign to him, like something he was trying to understand and savor the taste of. And despite all your confidence you still had to work up quite the nerve to kiss him like this.

Steve blinked slowly, taking a good look at you, gazing into your eyes before leaning up against his pillow,

"Big day. There's not much to unpack, but we're gonna be leaving here and going to my place. We check out in about three hours. If there's anything you wanna do, just let me know. I'm gonna let you get ready."

"Okay!" you grinned, and sprung out of bed.

You got ready quickly, not wanting to miss a second of your day with Steve.

All he could do was watch you get ready from the slightly ajar bathroom door with a satisfied grin on his face - you were such a beacon of light and he loved to see that you genuinely enjoyed spending time with him. And you were so cute getting ready, bouncing around on your feet and blushing your face, leaning into the mirror to apply your makeup, which came out rosy and natural when you were done. You didn't often apply a lot of makeup in the mornings anyway, and good for Steve, who liked to be able to really see your face. Then again, in his eyes you were beautiful no matter how you decided to look.

At some point Steve gave you your privacy, and you came out of the bathroom in your outfit for the day- a tie front white blouse with a lacy black bra that peaked out from underneath, and a pair of loose fitting jeans. And of course, your given accessories - pearl earrings, a small necklace, and a few spritzes of perfume. Steve, as always, was pleased with your appearance, staring with wide, appreciative eyes.

You lifted your arms up, only showing more of the bra you wore beneath, and your tummy, chuckling,

"You like?"

"I love. You always look amazing somehow," Steve grinned, getting up himself. He approached you and took your hands in his, giving them both a squeeze. "I'm gonna get ready, then we can do whatever you like until we have to leave."

You decided you wanted to share breakfast with Steve the same way you had shared dinner last night, only a bit more casually and not as elaborate. Steve was down with anything you wanted to do, and even though he tried to apologize because you couldn't necessarily go out for breakfast, you refused to let him. When you got the room service, you ate outside in the same chairs as last night, but you curled up into your chair, pulling your knees into your chest as you ate French toast, fresh fruit and scarfed down a good amount of mimosa.

"So beautiful being so far up here," your eyes sparkled as you looked out along the New York skyline, above all the business down on the streets, only knowing blue skies twinged with orange, the sun settling in the sky.

Steve looked out at the sky where you were gazing, and squinted in admiration, smiling back softly at you,

"New York can be beautiful, despite what they say."

You giggled, shaking your head,

"Believe me, some of my friends would have choice words for me if they knew I was in New York. They still haven't gotten out of their whole: 'west coast is the best coast' mindset."

Steve just chuckled wearily, spouting some of his wisdom as he looked out at the sky,

"I can't say I believe in any of the rivalry... but I'm Brooklyn born and raised. Can't take it out of me. Even after all this time."

Steve's wistful voice drew you in- you wanted to know more about him. For once, he wasn't just a history project, but he was a human. Everything you learned about him only opened your eyes further, and you were a sucker for learning new things.

"What was it like?"

Steve turned to face you, nodding slowly,

"It was... hard. Parents died when I was young, I didn't have many friends besides Bucky. And honestly, I'm not one to pity myself. I made it this far, I guess. And I loved Brooklyn growing up. I was sick as a dog half the time, but the other half of the time I was spending it around the greatest places in the city. And getting my ass beat 'cuz I didn't know when to shut up. Sure, the movie theater got torn down for some mall and the place Buck and I used to go for milkshakes doesn't exist anymore, but... I had that. In the city I loved, and still love."

You hung on to every last word of Steve's. Everything he said just rang true even though your life experience was nothing like his own. You were gathering that Steve did have a hard life, just like the papers presented, but he made it work in his own fashion. It was what had got him this far: his drive, his belief in himself and others. And although modern life wasn't something he was used to, he was taking it day by day. And he didn't say this, but it was much easier adjusting with someone like you by his side. You were the young old soul Steve needed, and a breath of fresh air at the same time. It was a part of the reason you were so delicate to him, so special.

"Must've been hard. It doesn't sound like pity to me. I think you just don't like talking about yourself," you grinned softly.

"Huh," Steve laughed. "You're right. Never have."

A beat passed, then Steve spoke again.

"You have something," he uttered gently, leaning forward hesitantly until you gave him the go with your reassuring eyes. "Just here."

His eyes were soft and trained as he leaned in across the table, dabbing at the corner of your lip with his finger at the powdered sugar that had landed there. The food on your oblivious face only made you even cuter. And while the action was nonchalant for him, it felt so intimate to you for him to reach out and touch you so gently, to do something so tiny for you. You couldn't help the way your smile grew as you watched him dust off his hand afterwards, leaning back into his own seat.

"You're honestly so cute, Steve," you sipped at your mimosa, and he chuckled goofily, shaking his head and looking down at his plate.

"I- I don't try to be-" he stammered.

Steve was so bashful he could hardly form a competent sentence, but all you did was laugh it off, eyeing him from the rim of your mimosa glass. You had him, for sure. Who else could render a grown man, especially him, speechless?

In the time that you woke up and finished breakfast, the hours had passed by and you and Steve were ready to leave. Packing up again wasn't a hassle as you had only spent the night there and Steve was there to help. You glanced out the window, squinting your eyes before you left the room. Clouds seemed to be settling in the sky, hiding the sun that you had been admiring so highly just a few minutes before. You didn't mind though, in fact it didn't take away from your love for the New York City skyline. Sure, you had cloudy days in SoCal, but you were used to sunshine. This was refreshing, almost. The gloom was comforting, the heavy clouds seemed to close in on you and hug you. It felt cozy.

You pointed it out to Steve as you left the room, your fingers mingling with his until you held his hand gently.

"Looks like it's gonna rain," you commented.

Steve looked out the window by the elevator and sucked his teeth, frustrated,

"Ahh, this conflicts with our plans. I was gonna try to get us out somehow, but we can't really do what I planned if it's going to rain."

"Steve, it's okay," you smiled up at him genuinely, squeezing his hand and stepping into the elevator. "I'm sure whatever you had planned was great, but I'd love to spend the day inside with you in your apartment. If I'm gonna be there for the next two weeks I might as well get settled in, right?"

"You really don't mind?" Steve asked, wanting to make sure you really were okay with it all, and you nodded.

"Yeah. When I'm with you, I have fun. I don't mind what we do."

Steve gathered the nerve to reach down and kiss the top of your head, the simple, sweet gesture making your body fill up with excitement like a balloon. The smile on your face only got wider. You wanted to keep count of all the kisses you shared - four thus far. You wouldn't admit it, but this was the most whipped for a man you'd ever been.

"You're sweet," he praised you, and this time you were the one getting bashful, looking down at your feet.

You exited the elevator and headed into the same secluded back area as before. Steve put on quite the oblivious show, carrying both your heavy bags to the car, his muscles flexing unforgivably as he reached up and easily put them in the back of the car. Normally you would've offered help but you had no problem leaning against the back door, watching him work his magic. He grunted as he stored away the last of your luggage, and that set your whole body on fire. You doused it out quickly though, when he turned and faced you with an incognizant smile, looking exactly like a golden retriever puppy dog. Steve turned you on, but there was something undeniably adorable about him that made your relationship far more than just sexual.

"You ready?" he asked, squinting slightly.

You nodded, smiling softly. As per usual, Steve opened the door for you when you got into the front passenger seat of the car. You wanted to tell him he didn't have to, but you stayed silent, because something in you told you that there was a part of Steve that did it subconsciously, still used to tradition and the art of being a gentleman. When Steve got into the car next to you, you felt your chest swell with excitement knowing that you were on the way to his apartment, and that this was still only the beginning.

"I'm excited!" you locked eyes with Steve, and that feeling came bubbling up inside of him, that feeling that he couldn't resist you and the bright smile of yours that matched your luminous heart.

He started driving and you looked out the window at the streets passing by, taking in all the morning glory of New York once again. Steve kept stealing glances at you, your head nearly pressed up against the window as you drove past buildings and people. Every once in a while, you'd point in amazement at a particularly expensive or tall building, or point out places you'd just die to visit. Steve noted all of it mentally, resolving to himself that he'd take you to these places somehow, even if you couldn't necessarily be together in the public eye.

You played soft music in the car, making small talk and mindless conversation during the half hour drive from Brooklyn to Manhattan. It was just as you were pulling into the lot in the back of the apartment that it started to rain, and not just rain, it started to pour. You shrieked with excitement when you ran out of the car like a giddy child, leaving Steve no time to open the door for you. In the rain, you couldn't help but feel free, spreading your arms out like an eagle and yipping. Steve seemed disgruntled, not wanting you to get soaked or even sick from the cold downpour, but you didn't seem to mind.

"YN, you're gonna get soaked!" Steve warned, opening the trunk and starting to bring both your bags out.

"That's what she said," you trilled, and you knew you were being childish, but you reassured Steve that you were fine. "Steve, it hardly rains where I live. I need to have this."

Steve shook his head, but he laughed at the reminder that you were a sunshine girl at heart,

"You're crazy."

"Okay, okay! I'll help, and don't try to get me not to," you sauntered over to your luggage, dragging it behind you while Steve followed, chuckling to himself.

You were both soaked, and by the time you got inside to Steve's floor, you had tracked rainwater inside his house. It dripped off the sleeves of your blouse, off your shoulders and hair. But you weren't worried about that right now. You were glad to be inside Steve's apartment, the place you'd be calling home for the next two weeks. His apartment was nothing like the luxury penthouse, but to you it was even better.

It fit Steve's style, comfortable and homey, full of browns and neutrals with dark wooden floors, and almost rustic in feel. Looking at the apartment, you wouldn't have guessed that it belonged to the same man who put you in a private jet yesterday, but it was still nice and spacious. It gave Steve that human quality, and you could tell that was probably what he was looking for.

Steve watched as you walked around the apartment, introducing yourself to the new surroundings, and closed the door behind him.

"Welcome. Hope it's not too dull."

You turned, still soaking, water splashing on the floor as you did so,

"Never too dull. I like it. It's real homey."

"Good, because we'll be here for as long as you stay," Steve nodded, remembering again that you'd be here for two weeks, which honestly felt like a long time. He wanted to make sure every second was satisfying.

"That's fine with me," you smiled. "But uhm, I should probably change. I don't wanna ruin your floors."

"You won't ruin my floor. Fair though, I should change too. We're both soaked." A beat passed, then mindlessly Steve added, "I can give you one of my shirts."

You paused slightly, not because this was something you didn't want, but because it seemed so intimate to you to wear another guy's clothing. It meant that you would be wrapped in his scent in the form of an oversized t-shirt or whatever he planned to give you. He noticed the way your demeanor shifted and looked up, brows raised inquisitively,

"Is that okay?"

A goofy smile spread out across your cheeks and you nodded slowly,

"Yeah, perfect."

You changed in Steve's bedroom while he changed in the living room, and you couldn't help but linger a bit, looking around at all his things and what was in his room. It was a simple bedroom, not much in it except his bed, dresser, night tables, and a bookshelf full of hefty books he probably hadn't gotten to reading yet.

On top of his bookshelf was a drawing pad, but you didn't dare look through it - you knew how personal something like that could be. There was also a photo album with no photos actually in it, but he had tucked a bunch of pictures into the first page of the photo album. You smiled to yourself - you knew he'd probably been meaning to stock the album but just hadn't gotten to it yet. You noted this as something you could help him do while you spent time together.

You heard Steve shuffling outside of the room, so you came out of his bedroom and walked into the living room where he seemed to be setting up, looking for something to do.

"Hey," he looked over his shoulder at you, occupied with one of the shelves in the living room. He looked over again, making a double take, this time with his brows furrowed and his eyes intense. "Hey," he repeated with some intensity, pausing to take you all in.

He hadn't thought much about giving you his clothes to wear but now that he saw you in them, it was like he got the wind knocked out of him. His clothes draped around you perfectly, dangling down your legs and leaving plenty of space. His hoodie practically hung to your knees, and underneath you were only wearing a pair of cotton gray booty shorts. And not to mention, you had ditched the bra, so he could see the outline of your breasts through the hoodie he gave you, nipples poking through.

He was trying not to be so juvenile about the fact that he could practically feel all of you through your clothes - his clothes - if he were to touch you, but man did you pull it off. Besides, you had obsessed over the smell of his hoodie when you put it on, you wanted to bury your face in it the rest of the day, but you settled for putting the hood over your head instead.

And anyway, you weren't immune from the thirsting. You too looked Steve up and down, dragging your eyes along his figure, which was especially apparent in the t-shirt he wore that seemed to cling onto his muscles just the right way. And who could forget the grey sweatpants that hung almost explicitly low on his hips.

You both were thinking the same thing: "You have no idea."

You cocked your head to the side, your voice coming out quieter than you'd intended,

"Hi."

"Uh," Steve cleared his throat, turning back to the bookshelf. "Sit! I was thinking we could play board games, maybe some cards."

"I'm down!" you sat with a grunt on the pillow that was by the end of Steve's long coffee table in front of his couch.

"Cool, so I've got Scrabble, Sorry, Uno..."

Steve went on with the choices and you eventually settled on Uno. Towards the beginning you said it was a game of luck, but when you won the first two rounds, you started to spout knowledge about strategy and how Uno was a game of supreme genius. It was all in good humor, but Steve was actually competitive like you.

You griped at him, warning that you didn't want him to let you win, and he actually laughed at you, replying: "Come on, doll, who do you think you're playing against? We aren't friends right now." Steve's competitiveness was quite fun to see up close and even a turn on. It was game on. You were five games of Uno and two and a half board games in when you yawned, and Steve's ears seemed to perk up as he looked at you.

"Tired?" he asked, and your eyebrows came together, confused. You didn't even realize that you had yawned.

"Mm-mm. Tired of beating you, maybe."

Steve snorted, shaking his head,

"You're hilarious."

"Right?" you teased, making a face like it was obvious.

"I do think we should take a break though," Steve sat up and dusted his hands off on his pants, and you refrained from making another sore winner joke, following suit and getting up yourself. "I can make you some tea and we can maybe watch a movie."

"Sounds good to me," you grinned, following him into the kitchen.

It was still raining outside, and the rain ran down the small window in the kitchen behind the sink. You stood at the window, folding your arms against the counter and placing your chin on top, gazing outside as the rain poured. It was a dreary but cozy day, and who better to spend it inside with than Steve, playing board games with him in his hoodie?

After putting the kettle on, Steve glanced over at you, your arms perched on the counter, looking out at the rain falling before you. He smiled silently. You were so cute, and he loved catching you in wholesome moments like this, when you were all to yourself, like no one else was there. He got a good scope of what your life was like when you weren't together through Snapchat and everything else, but now you were under such specific circumstances. In particular, you were with him. But in this moment, he could have a real life glimpse of what you were like when you were truly alone.

He went to go pass by you, and you stood up, turning on your feet to face him, trapping the two of you between the island counter behind Steve and the sink counter behind you. You were so close together, Steve hovering you while his eyes searched your face, before settling on your own eyes.

"Hey," you grinned softly.

"Hey," Steve replied, dimples showing when he smiled and you both leaned in, closing the little space between the two of you and letting your lips brush together and then flush, skin against skin.

The bristle of Steve's growing beard tickled your chin as you pressed your body against his, this time purposefully grinding your waist into the growing bulge as you deepened the kiss. Your lips together were soft and moist, mouths sharing the same breath. The rain seemed to grow even louder then, pattering hard against the window behind you, the skies darkening ever so slowly. You tilted your head, then Steve turned his, your noses sweeping against one another as you tried to find the perfect placement, the perfect pace, settling on this slow, passionate embrace of your lips.

Last night the kiss had been desperate, almost hot and feverish although slow. This time the sensation was as if you were accustomed to the feeling of your lips against each other's, learning the curvatures of the other's mouths. It was unhurried and sensual, needing more but not digging desperately. It was just apparent what you both wanted.

And you were all too wrapped up in it, your breaths becoming heavier and filling in the silence outside of the sound of the rain pounding on the window. His hands gripped the small of your back tighter, pulling you in closer to him, while yours explored both sides of his face. Your touch sent the most pleasant churning sensation down into his stomach, making that bulge in his sweatpants even more apparent. A quiet, faint moan left your lips, the sound of it sending Steve into a frenzy. You could feel him gearing to press into you more, telling you without words what you both wanted, revving to kiss you harder, until the shrill whistle of the kettle resounded in the room.

Five times you'd kissed now.

You both pulled away, alarmed, but Steve still kept his hands on your waist, his erection still poking furiously against you. Just the bulge tucked away in his pants knocked the wind out of you - you couldn't imagine what it would feel like inside you. But now all those hot and heavy feelings were slowly sloughing away as you returned to innocence, feeling sort of flustered at how quick you'd both been to try to veer this congregation of your lips into something more.

Since that morning, something had been in the air. Maybe it was the fact that you were inside all day and it was raining outside, so it made you feel like there was nothing better to do than have sex, but whatever it was, it was getting to the both of you. And soon there would only be one thing left to do.

You cleared your throat, your voice settled although your face was frazzled, and you could hear the smile in your voice,

"You should get that."

Steve seemed to snap out of it at last, blinking fast as he peeled away from you, nodding strongly,

"Right."

You bit your lip and sat up on the kitchen sink while Steve prepared the tea. As much as you wanted to help and be close to him, you had to cool off first. You and Steve both knew what you wanted, and you knew if you let it happen, it would simply happen. But you each wanted to hold it out just a little while longer. It was just a question of how much longer that would actually be.

It seemed that you had enough time to compose yourself while Steve made the tea, asking you faintly how many spoonfuls of sugar you liked and if you wanted milk or cream, and you replied with your preferences. Steve walked over, handing you your tea, and leaned against the island behind him while you swung your legs back and forth on the counter in front of him.

He reached out his mug,

"A toast."

"To rainy days," you decided.

"To rainy days."

You sat in silence while you took the first sips of your tea, delightfully warm and settling in your stomach in just the right way.

"How about... I order some pizza, and we watch a movie," Steve suggested.

"Deal," you bit your lip, grinning at him and hopping down from the counter.

The pizza came once you finished your tea, and during that time you had both been sitting together on the couch watching junk TV, like those fake court shows that you found yourselves unusually invested in.

Steve set the pizza on the coffee table in front of the couch and opened up the box, and you leaned in to give it a whiff.

“Okay. I have a... kinda stupid question," you said after a little while, while Steve put pizza slices on plates for the both of you.

"There are no stupid questions here."

"I know, but it's stupid anyway," you bit down, wringing your hands together a bit nervously - you didn't want to come off the wrong way.

Steve noticed how your whole demeanor changed as you turned towards him, cross legged and wringing your hands together, and he couldn't help but chuckle, trying to calm you down,

"What are you about to ask me, doll?"

You laughed at how weird you realized you were behaving, and shook your head,

"I was just wondering, you know. Do you ever, like... have to diet?"

Steve actually burst out laughing, and you couldn't help but giggle along. You knew you were silly to think that he would actually be upset with you asking him something like that. And as he was laughing, you really relished the sound of his laughter. He'd chuckled before here and there and it brought you little bursts of joy, but here he was giving you a genuine belly laugh, sonorous and fully amused. It was nice to see him loosen up a little bit. He finally regained his composure, but a hand was still on his belly as he shook his head.

"I can't believe that was what you were asking me. I thought it was gonna be something difficult and soul searching the way you were acting," he teased you, but then he placed his hands over yours. "You know you can ask me anything, doll. I won't get offended."

"Promise?"

"You have my word. Besides, I don't think I could ever get mad at you. To answer your question though... I guess I have to regulate myself. But, you know, the serum... gosh, it sounds so weird to say that... it makes things a lot easier. I can't just pig out all the time though, and I still have to train. 'S not something I worry about too much, but it's not like I'm eating junk food that often anyway."

"Oh," you nodded, actually intrigued to hear this information. You didn't want to treat him like a Captain America encyclopedia, but you, like thousands of others, had very curious questions about him. It was just your luck that you could actually ask him these things, the most reliable source there was. "That makes sense."

"Uh huh," Steve passed you a plate, topped with the cheesiest pizza you'd ever seen - it was true, New Yorkers didn't play with their pizza. "You know you don't have to diet though, right? Not if you don't want to."

Your heart warmed at Steve's unwarranted kindness. Of course he would think you were wondering this for yourself, and the fact that he checked in just in case made you want to squeal.

"You're so lovely," you couldn't help but reach over and stroke his cheek before letting your hand fall back in your own lap. "I know. I really just got curious, that's all."

"It's real cute," Steve commented, laying back on the couch. "Now, what movie do you wanna watch?"

"Hmm... well have you ever seen Harry Potter?" you asked, your voice going up a pitch as you got suddenly very excited, realizing that if things went as planned and Steve liked the Harry Potter movies, you could spend your two weeks binge watching and rewatching them on your inside days, and watching even more movies with him that he hadn't seen.

"I haven't. It's been written down in my little book for so long," Steve said, not realizing he let the existence of this "little book" slip.

"Little book?" you raised your eyebrows, and he turned his head to face you, smiling sheepishly.

"It's a little lame, but I keep a bunch of pop culture stuff that people recommend to me in this little notebook. It's how I keep up with the times. God, I sound like an old man."

Your heart soared at the knowledge of this notebook's purpose. You found it so endearing that Steve kept a record of the things people recommended to him, even if it was a little sad that he still felt like he had to adjust. You wanted to pour suggestions into this little notebook and treat it like a bucket list in the two weeks you had together, without adding too much pressure on him. One of the things on that bucket list would for sure be to watch the Harry Potter movies in their entirety.

"No!" you nearly growled, your voice raising louder than you had expected, rushing closer to him and putting your hands on both his shoulders. Steve's eyes were wide as he watched you, not expecting this sudden surge in energy. "Not lame, Steve."

You often restricted him from deprecating himself, always reminding him who he was as both a figure and as a human being, and he appreciated that. But this time around you seemed extremely ardent and sincere, adding some bass in your voice as you tried to get him to see.

"Okay," Steve nodded slowly, still wide-eyed and a bit shocked.

You blinked hard.

"Not lame." You realized you were being intense, and relaxed a bit, but Steve had no idea how happy the knowledge of that list made you just now, and you never wanted him to feel like it was silly or lame. It was just a reminder that he was in a world so strange and new to him, and he was making the effort to fit in. That was all that mattered for you. "I'm sorry, it's just... I really find that very sweet. Literally never stop doing that."

Steve grinned, patting your knee to reassure you,

"I promise I won't stop."

"Good... 'cuz if you do I'm just gonna make you a new list," you smirked, and you settled back down, Steve shaking his head playfully as he put on the first movie.

Your eyes glowed with excitement as the opening began, the notorious fanfare twinkling in your ears, and you scooched in close to him, wanting to cuddle. He obliged and placed his broad arm over your shoulders, pulling a plush blanket over the both of you while you snuggled your cheek into his chest. You'd cuddled the night before but you hadn't had the chance to really take it in.

Now you were doing just that, and it felt so right being so close to Steve, being so laid up like this. It was romantic. It was what couples did. And although Steve's heart was beating, trying to make sure he was doing every little thing right, you settled in immediately, your head on his chest calming his pulsating heart.

He was quite invested in the movie. In all honesty, he'd heard lots of good things about the Harry Potter series, but he never took the time, because he never had the time to watch them. He was glad you seemed adamant on getting him to watch the movies and catch up on all the references he missed out on. And watching the movies was entertaining. But even better than just watching the movies was getting to be around you.

You snuggled into Steve like you were just meant to be tucked under him, and you weren't afraid to get close to him, your head on his heart and your legs in between his. Steve kept peeking down at you, your eyes glued animatedly to the TV as Harry, Ron and Hermione explored the dark halls of Hogwarts Castle. You even quoted the characters at times. And honestly, your commentary was the best part of all.

You spent four hours sitting through the first two movies, just huddled in together, away from the rain, the empty box of pizza sitting in front of you. You felt safe with each other in the dim lighting of Steve's living room, alone together in the most intimate of ways. And while it was wholesome, being so close and locked in together was sure to make those feelings from earlier spring up again. It was in the background of both of your minds, though you each worked so hard to keep the movie and the innocent touching at the forefront.

Steve didn't want to initiate anything until he knew you were ready, because he didn't want it to feel rushed. The both of you knew that your relationship was built on this very sexual and physical basis, so you weren't exactly shying away from it. But there was a difference in doing it online and doing it in real life, and this was something you both understood without having to say it aloud. So you were each tentative, because you both wanted it, but you weren't sure when it should happen or how to say it explicitly.

Being locked in like this the whole day, though, when it was so dark and rainy outside, definitely got you both in the mood quicker. Your desires were unspoken, but they drifted in the air when you were together, even during these innocuous, wholesome moments. It was why when you got up from the couch to get ready for bed, you had this one thing hounding your brain, fighting to come up to the forefront. You tried to tell yourself you were just being a horny 20 something, but god did you want him. In every sense of the word you wanted him, and it made you feel a lot better about wanting to get physical with him. There were actually strings attached, and you wouldn't have accepted that if it were anybody else. But with Steve you were glad the connection went beyond the physical.

But that physical connection? You wanted to plug into it very soon.

"I think I'm gonna take a shower," you said after you got up from the couch, stretching a bit.

Steve's hoodie stretched up your legs, showing the tiny pair of shorts you were wearing underneath. You followed Steve's eyes as they raked up your thighs all the way to your face. Flustered, he replied,

"Yeah, that's- that's fine. I'll uh, clean up, and we can go to bed."

"That sounds great," you smiled warmly, again feeling that cozy surge in your tummy and heart that reminded you that you had Steve all to yourself, that you were doing these intimate things like sharing the bed and wearing his clothes, cuddling while watching movies on a rainy day.

It all honestly felt like the beginning of a relationship, without all the pressures of a typical relationship. The uniqueness of your situation made a lot of things different, but that didn't always mean harder.

You had made up your mind about the physical intimacy, though. It was why you snuck that lingerie set into the bathroom when you got ready for your shower.

As you showered, you mulled over your mind how you would approach Steve. You didn't want to catch him entirely off guard or take him by surprise. Your confidence reassured you that you hadn't been reading the signs wrong, that this was something you both wanted. You still wanted to approach this the right way. And although you weren't exactly nervous, you hadn't had sex in a long time, hadn't felt the touch of someone else's hands on you more intimately for a while.

But, neither had Steve. In fact, he was sitting in his bed outside the bathroom attached to his room, his jaw clenched as he stared at the space ahead of him waiting for you to come out, his mind returning to that heated moment you shared earlier. He was a bit embarrassed at the way he'd reacted so quickly, but amazed at how fast you turned him on without even really trying. And he knew that it was in both of your minds, and he was thinking of how and when he could bring it up to you respectfully. He was beginning to realize that these things were easier online.

You took a good look at yourself in the mirror after you had changed into the set Steve bought you, and honestly, you were digging it. You figured you'd just approach him outright, let him think about it and make it clear what you wanted - what you both wanted. You had done so much together through a screen. You couldn't wait for that to become real much longer. Steve had even said it himself: "I can't wait to fuck you." That moment was emblazoned in your mind at this point.

The set fit you perfectly. You had tried it on only once before, in front of the mirror in your apartment, admiring how it fit your body, taking hundreds of pictures but not sending them to anyone, not even Steve. He'd see it when he saw it, you had decided.

But looking in the mirror now, you felt like you were on fire. Steve had picked this out himself, so you knew it would drive him crazy. The white color of the cut out lingerie bodysuit was translucent against your skin so tantalizingly, and the way the straps at the bottom hugged up your waist highlighted the shape of your hips so well. And even though it was cut out, it left just enough to the imagination. The pink satin robe over it was just an accent, left slightly open just for show.

You bit down on your lip, doing your final primp and polish before you took in a deep breath and walked out.

"Steve," you said as you stood in front of the bathroom door, facing him in his bed.

When Steve turned to face you, his entire face and body changed. He hadn't been expecting this at all, and what made it even better was that you were wearing the lingerie he bought for you. The thought of you being in something he bought you made some part of his brain light up, the part that discovered new likings.

And god, you looked gorgeous. Your body could be seen in just the right way in the piece, and he couldn't forget the way it just barely covered your breasts, and the flesh right between your thighs. But more than surprised, he was turned on. That was why he wasted no time like he usually might have by being bashful and googly eyed. He was all those things, but he wanted you the most out of all that.

"Wow," Steve said, dragging his words out. He turned so he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyebrows raised as he looked you up and down, taking you all in.

You giggled, feeling Steve's eyes burning into you.

You realized how long it had been since someone looked at you that way in person. Almost every night of the week, you had all eyes on you in your shows. But it just wasn't the same. There was never that special feeling. And with Steve, you knew his reactions were genuine.

And the look in Steve's eyes, hungry in the needy sense and hungry in the commanding sense, nearly made your knees buckle. Just the thought of what was coming next seemed to have you throbbing. He seemed to have no problem making eye contact this time around, there was no sense that he was being shy.

"You look... fucking amazing," Steve breathed out, letting out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding in.

And while you knew it was true, some part of you had you folding your hands together as if you were hoping he'd think that.

"Yeah?" you asked, tilting your head and slowly shrugging off the robe, letting it drop to your waist.

Steve's breath got caught in his throat as you fully revealed the lingerie beneath, the robe pooling around your arms and waist. All he could do was nod before he found his voice again, gulping,

"Yeah." He beckoned you to him, outstretching his arm. "Come here, doll."

You inched towards him, unafraid despite how much the pounding in your chest may have indicated that you weren't. You understood your power, knew how to utilize your spectacular sexual prowess. You may have both been a little rough when it came to real life interactions, but your chemistry together was explosive. It would knock any awkwardness out of the park, or enhance it in a way that made the experience a lot less nerve wracking.

You stood in front of him, looking down at him with lust in your hooded eyes as you took in all of him.

"Take that off for me?" Steve's hand brushed against the robe.

His voice was low and teetering on the edge of desperate. You soaked in all that need, wasting no time with teasing like you usually might have, because you wanted this just as much as he did.

You took it off, letting it fall to your feet on the floor. Removing the robe showed off your legs, smooth and elongated. He took in a sharp breath, his chest hurting from how badly he wanted you. He inched his hands forward, resting them on your waist and running his hands up and down the sheer fabric of the lingerie piece. The feeling of his hands on you was so different from the feeling before, because you knew exactly what was going to happen next, the realization burning in your stomach.

Steve took his time with you, his hands on you making it so hard for you to wait. He saw the way your eyes glimmered with desire and he grinned almost devilishly.

"I know, puppy," he called you, and his hands lowered on your hips to settle you down onto his lap. Despite how wide his legs were, you straddled him with ease. He nudged his knee into your clothed center, pushing your legs even further and making you let out a loud huff. Steve let his fingers run along your cheeks as his eyes searched yours. "So goddamn beautiful."

"Steve," you panted, and he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours and letting your lips meet in yet another kiss. Six times you'd kissed now, and you weren't counting all those cute pecks on the couch earlier.

His lips sunk into yours with ease, both your mouths wet and hungry for kissing. Your bodies seemed to meld into each other's, neither of you very conscious of your movement, just knowing that you were getting closer and closer to each other. You could feel Steve breathing hard against your face, and the touch of his hands on your body felt like they were burning prints into your hot skin. You moaned into his mouth when his hands traveled down your back to cup your ass, almost tentatively, like he didn't know what to do with it.

You wanted to encourage him to go for it, and you succeeded, because he squeezed the sensitive flesh, kneading it in his hands which were larger than life. You could feel his cock through his boxers, closer than you'd ever felt it before, and you couldn't help but whimper when you rolled your hips against his length, because the friction was so unbelievable.

Steve's eyes nearly shot open when you rolled your clothed cunt against the erection still growing in his boxers, forgetting how apparent it was that he was hard, and forgetting that you would actually do something about it. Too many times he'd been left to handle things on his own. The fact that you were actually there to help him release all that tension got him going like nothing else. And he could feel the shape of you against his cock, feel your slick folds beneath what you wore like it was your bare flesh. He grunted in your mouth, eventually opening his eyes where they hung low, pulling away so your eyes met.

"You do know what you're doing, right?" he asked, not as a warning or an expression of doubt but as a confirmation that you knew the things that you were making him feel.

You rolled your eyes playfully, your smile lazy and hazy eyed,

"No, Steve, I'm grinding against your dick for no reason."

When you put it that way, it made Steve blush, returning to that bashful disposition for just a minute before he came back to the space he was in again.

"I-"

"Shh," you shushed him lightly, putting your finger over his lips, making him look up at you with almost innocent eyes. You shook your head gently. "Don't talk."

You leaned in again, taking control of the situation as your fingers squeezed at tufts of his hair, pulling gently and summoning soft groans from his lips into yours, kissing him harder this time. Hard enough that you pushed him back onto the bed, him following under your lead, overwhelmed with the feeling of your body up against him, laying his entire body down.

You kept on kissing, hot and heavy and full of touching, but it wasn't enough to satisfy the craving you both had, no matter how many times you brushed against Steve's cock, no matter how much Steve's hand creeped past your ass and his fingers brushed against your core, which was practically soaking through your lingerie. You pulled away from his lips with a pop sound, your face suddenly emerging from being buried in his as you straddled Steve’s lap, who was now shirtless and starting to get a bit hot.

"Steve," you breathed heavily, trying to catch your breath. You needed to say it aloud. "I... wanna have sex with you. I just... I think we're both ready."

Steve knew that was what you wanted but he wasn't sure when either of you would actually advance things further. You watched him as he blinked, biting down on his lip.

"You're- you're sure?"

"I need it," you practically whined without meaning to, and fuck, Steve couldn't say no even if he wanted to - how could he when whining sounded so good coming from your lips, swollen and wet from kissing.

His eyes nearly glazed over at the sight of you on top of him, in that flimsy little piece, so frustrated and so needy, almost pouting. There was no way he could try to tempt you even more - he didn't have it in him to wait by teasing you.

"You really can't wait? You need it that bad?" he drawled, not because he wanted to taunt you, but because he wanted to hear how badly you wanted him, the way you expressed it on camera.

You couldn't resist, not when he was running his thumb along your bare thighs the way that he was, looking up at you with a sort of unintentionally cocky smirk set on his lips.

"I need you, Stevie," your face gave it all away, brows furrowed and your eyes full of desperation. You rolled your hips against him again like you were trying to prove it, nearly paralyzing yourself with the pleasure you felt just from the outline of his cock. Your legs shook and your jaw clenched. The sound of your pouty voice was almost agonizing. "You need me too."

Steve groaned at the repeated feeling, teeth grit as he decided to take matters into his own hands. You landed on your back neatly as he flipped you over with ease, now hovering over you. He was big and strong and his build was intimidating. He covered you completely and then some, and you quaked at how his body over yours almost cast a shadow. There was no innocence left in Steve's eyes, only burning desire and a need to control and be controlled. All that was running through his mind was thoughts of pleasuring you, making you cum around his tongue, his fingers, and his cock. Words couldn't express how much he wanted to bring you to that point and actually be able to touch you.

"Fuck," he uttered out, his throat tight and constricted. "I need to get you out of this."

A part of Steve wanted to rip it off, and another part of him wanted to keep some control of his senses and savor the way it looked on you. But he settled for burying his face in your neck, kissing you and leaving tiny little love bites to remind the both of you of this night. Steve's lips against your skin had you feeling so sensitive, the way he toyed at your neck and earlobe, making you shudder into his ears. Your hands flew to his back and gripped the tight muscle there, exploring the broad surface. The taste of your skin, that light sheen of sweat mixed with your natural taste had Steve aching for more - all he wanted was to bury his face in your pussy right now, then bury even more of him inside of you.

He moved onto your chest, peeling the top part off with ease, reeling back to take a good look at you. You let out a sharp intake at the feeling of the flush of air against your tits, realizing how exposed you were to Steve, who seemed ultra focused on the curve of your breasts. You looked so beautiful, half naked, writhing underneath him, waiting for what was next.

He took one of your breasts into his mouth, kissing and suckling at your nipple and making you cry out for the first time, your eyes shutting closed at the feeling of his warm lips closing against the flesh. He carried on with this until your nipples were hard stiff in his mouth, reveling in the taste of you and the noises his mouth made against you, as well as all the pleasured breaths that left your mouth as your chest rose and fell.

"So fucking beautiful, baby," he whispered kissing down the expanse of your tummy until he reached the happy trail.

You wondered if he could feel the butterflies swarming in your stomach at the sound of his praise. You watched through blurred eyes as Steve's head ducked further down your stomach, reaching that v-line that was almost covered by the bottom half of your lingerie. You almost moaned when he peeled that off with his teeth, looking dead at you as he did so.

"Steve, fuck, you swear you're not that experienced and then you do shit like this," you panted, though you couldn't stop your amusement from breaking through.

He laughed quietly, but in his blue eyes there was more dominance than there was cheeriness.

"I do my research," was all he said, the assertive nature of it all sending those butterflies swarming again.

He finally looked down at the bare flesh that was between your legs, a low groan escaping his throat as he did so. Your pussy was dripping wet and glistening, and though he'd seen it onscreen, absolutely nothing compared to the way it looked in real life. All he could think was that he was where he belonged, in between your legs. The sight of you made his cock twitch, precum practically leaking out of the tip and probably leaving a dark wet spot in his boxers.

You whimpered when you saw him looking at your pussy as it pulsed around nothing but air, needing him to say something, do something, anything. His eyes flashed up to you momentarily and he smiled slightly at the needy pout on your face, then back to your soaking pussy right in front of him. He couldn't say that he was all confident — he had a lot of things on his mind because he wanted to make sure his inexperience wouldn't hinder your pleasure. But some part of him also knew he'd make you scream.

"Such a pretty pussy," he grumbled, and reached his fingers out, gathering slick from the very entrance of your slit and running it between your folds, eliciting a gasp from you as your toes curled from the unexpected sensation.

"Fucking hell, Steve," you moaned, watching as he stuck his fingers in his mouth, tasting just the very beginnings of you and seeming to savor it.

He wished that he could lock away in his mind the noises he made come out of you, and keep on his tongue the taste of you. The sound of his name on your lips was so enticing.

"That good?" he asked, genuinely wanting to make sure - he was still so sweet even with his head between your legs.

You ran your fingers through his hair, praising him like he was a good dog,

"Mhm. So good."

He tried and failed to hide the almost giddy grin that appeared on his face, then began to kiss and suck around your inner thighs, a relaxing touch that made your head loll and your eyes roll back in your head. Then that kissing at your thighs, those wet and chaste butterfly kisses became so much closer, his lips wrapping around your clit and giving it a soft kiss. He looked up at you for reassurance,

"That okay?"

"Fuck, yes, Steve," you cried out at that zinging sensation, desperate for him to really get going. "More."

You pulled at his hair, which seemed to be a good indicator of what you wanted, and he smirked to himself, satisfied, and dove right in, not wasting anymore time.

The sound that came out of your mouth when Steve buried his face in your pussy, the tip of his tongue dragging along your entrance as he kept his lips suckling at your clit, was probably the most angelic thing Steve had ever heard. It had been so long since you'd been granted the simple luxury of getting your pussy eaten, and Steve was proving more and more by the minute that he was going to provide you with that luxury and more. The sounds you made egged him on, and he let that gentle prodding of his tongue become lapping, using his whole tongue against your wet entrance and lapping away, reveling in your bittersweet taste.

You writhed around his head, your back already arching up off the bed. You were feeling everything - Steve's mouth at your throbbing clit, his wide tongue lapping fat stripes up your slit which was coated in your thick arousal, the bristles of his growing beard against your inner thighs, the feeling of his hands at your thighs, spreading your legs apart the perfect amount for him.

"Oh," you moaned, and Steve moaned back, the vibrations of his moan running right up your core. "Mm, fuck, Stevie. Feels so fucking good."

Steve breathed out heavily, his hot breath against your core adding to the many sensations you were feeling at the moment. With each movement Steve made, your hand tugging at his hair grew tighter, only revving him up further. He wanted to make every inch of your body quake with pleasure and know that he was the reason why, he wanted to drag out all the moans he could from you until you lost your voice.

When he pulled his tongue and mouth away you whimpered, but he was right there making up for it, running his fingers along your clit in slow, tempting circles. He seemed to understand the way your pleasure operated right away, seemed to know exactly how to hold you over until you got to that point. And when he looked up, his beard and his lips glinting with your arousal, it was to your amazement that you remembered this wasn't just any old guy, but Captain America who was eating you out with such finesse. If that wasn't a sexual feat, you didn't know what was. Steve's eyes seemed feral with a glint of concentration, studying your face and the way your chest heaved up and down.

"Feels nice, doesn't it, doll?" he asked, dragging his fingers up and down on your clit and teasing your slit, making your face flex in a needy frown.

All you can do is let out a strangled moan as he keeps teasing with his fingers, running them along your pulsing slit until he dips the pad of one of his fingers in, feeling around until he slips it in entirely, earning a slight moan from you as his finger slides in. He savored the feeling of your walls, so warm and wet, hugging his finger, wanting to duplicate the feeling around his cock - but not yet. And fuck, just Steve's one finger is huge, more filling than your own fingers could be, reaching inside of you deeper than you could ever manage. You absolutely squealed when he dipped another finger inside, having to stretch you out a slight amount to even fit another finger. He raised his brows at the effort, realizing again how big every part of him was compared to you.

Then he found a pace with his fingers, pushing them in and out slowly, gently, scissoring you open and stretching you out as much as his fingers could. You moaned as he fingered you properly, thrusting his fingers in deep and slow, in and out and curving upwards at the spongy bit of flesh inside of you that made you squirm each time he pressed his fingers against it. He studied your reactions, probing at that spot inside of you with just the right amount of pressure once he understood your body.

"Yes," you mewl when he added his lips into the mix, lapping and sucking away at your clit, his own spit mingling with your arousal as the combination seemed to drip off his tongue and down his own chin.

He looked up at you, his eyes darker and lustier than you'd ever seen them, and you whimpered, combing your fingers through his hair in praise until he looked back down and closed his eyes, soft lashes pressing against his face.

He continued with this, drawing all kinds of moans and groans from your sweating throat until he lost all technique, his tongue sloppily lapping against you while he started to fuck you with his fingers, still just as deep but growing faster now. He was messy with it, losing himself in the taste of you and the feeling of your throbbing heat, closing his eyes and just going to town on you. He was really getting into the groove of pleasuring you, disregarding technicality and neatness, which was the only request you had for him: to let go. His only focus was getting you to come undone, and when Steve made a plan, he stuck to it.

"Oh, right there," the feeling of his tongue and his fingers against that spot had you spiraling in a good way — a sated moan bubbled up your throat, your hand gripping his hair hard, bringing a satisfying stinging sensation to his scalp.

Your orgasm came fast, your toes literally curling and your knees coming up, your feet sliding against the sheets. An open-mouthed, pleased moan escaped from your lips, white flashing behind your shut eyes as Steve drew the first orgasm of the night from you. And honestly, just the feeling of you coming on Steve's face was almost enough to make himself come, but he held back.

"Oh!" you exclaimed, the only word that could escape your strained chest, trying to make sense of everything that Steve was bringing out of you.

Even as you were coming, Steve didn't stop, still lapping away at your juices and fucking his fingers in and out of you at an absurd speed, drawing out your pleasure as long as he could. But you were quite honestly winded, not sure how much more of this you could take.

"S-Steve," you muttered, garnering the energy to stutter his name.

"Mm?" he hummed, his lips still against your clit, the sensation making you come again. It seemed like it shouldn't have been possible for you to come twice in such a short amount of time, but Steve's fingers still buried inside of you begged to differ. He drew back right when that happened, his brows furrowed in amazement as he watched your arousal pool out from you, his head pounding at the squelching sound your pussy made when his fingers slid out of you. "Oh, sweetheart. You're so wet."

He looked up at you, and the combination of the look in his eyes and the crease in his brow would've seemed concerned if it weren't for the fact that he was just genuinely amazed and surprised that you came twice in such a short amount of time.

"Mmph," you humphed, coming down and blinking, dazed.

"You okay, doll?" he asked, laughing quietly.

You were still shaking, still in recovery, but at least you could speak now, loosening the grip on his hair and beckoning him towards you. He gladly hovered back over you, face to face with you yet again. He blushed at the amount of slick he could feel dripping all down your thighs and legs against his own legs when he hovered over you.

"Come here," you cooed, awe shining in your eyes.

Steve leaned in and let you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him, sweet and slow, an appreciation kiss for what he'd done. You could taste all of you on just his lips. When he pulled away, he found your eyes boring deep into his, serious again.

"I'm ready," you bit down on your lip, and your voice became quieter. "I need you inside me. Please?"

"Oh, princess," Steve cupped your chin, and face, grazing his thumb along your lips. "You don't have to ask."

You held Steve's gaze, comprehending all the absolute adoration in his eyes, all of it held there for you.

"So glad I got you here all to myself, doll," he murmured lovingly, vast hands stroking your face.

You smiled,

"Me too."

He took in a deep breath as he stood on his knees between your legs, pulling down his boxers and letting his cock spring out. You'd seen it before, only once, and it was huge in person, veiny and throbbing, curved just the right way. The tip was leaking with his precum, the entire shaft engorged with a particular longing. You almost felt bad, you couldn't imagine how long it had been aching, because it was especially hard.

He noticed the bewildered look on your face. You were sort of prepping yourself with the knowledge that that was going inside of you. He couldn't help but wrap his hand around the shaft, stroking his cock slowly, only allowing that slight tug as a form of relief.

"You got me," he grunted, holding back just for you.

"Let me," you practically commanded, reaching forward to take him in your hands and feel him for yourself, biting down on your lip as you indulged in the feeling of your hands wrapped around him.

He took in a sharp intake of breath when you started slowly stroking up and down, but as much as he loved the feeling, he pushed your hand away at some point, shaking his head,

"Later. Right now I need to be inside you."

You couldn't stop the sinful grin that spread across your lips when he said that and dove back down, hovering over you yet again. His forehead brushed against yours as he positioned himself at your slit, just the feeling of his tip poking against you making you whimper loudly.

"Shit," he hissed, teasing your folds in earnest now. He used his hands to guide himself, sliding the tip of his cock up and down between your folds, which were soaked in your arousal. This alone could make him come. "You're dripping, sweetheart."

You whined, bucking your hips up as you tried to get him inside of you for real, and he snapped out of it and realigned to your pleasure.

"'S okay," he reassured you, and connected his lips to yours yet again, in that sweet, heart wrenching way because you only wanted one thing. "I got you," he promised, finally sliding the tip in.

Just at the feeling of the tip buried inside of your needy cunt, your eyes shot open and you looked up at Steve, who was doing everything in his power to take it slow. Your hand flung to his shoulder and you nodded, your voice faint and coming out in whispers like you were reaching for something,

"More."

He slid in even further, going past the tip. He wasn't even halfway in, and his shaft nearly filled you up, making you squeak out in pleasure. Meanwhile, a knot was nearly formed at Steve's temple as he focused on going further and not letting go regardless of how good you felt around him, tight and slowly being stretched out. He cherished the feeling of his cock going deeper inside of you, how wet and warm you felt, walls closing around him like your pussy was designed for him. It was more than sexual, it was euphoric, making his mind go blank as you wrapped around him so graciously.

You on the other hand, were scrunching your eyes shut, overwhelmed with pleasure and need. You wanted him all inside of you, but you were adjusting to the feeling, his cock thick and long and filling you up without even being all the way inside of you. You were silent, besides the whimpers that left your quivering lips as he pushed deeper inside of you, slowly and with the steadiest hips he could manage.

“You okay, doll?" he questioned, glancing up from where you were connected and at your face instead.

"Mhm," you opened your eyes and nodded, though you were blinking away tears - the pleasure was insurmountable, twinged with a bit of pain as you tried to get used to his length.

You were no virgin, but with how big Steve was, of course you needed the guidance. He seemed to understand that without having to communicate it, which made you want to joke about how cocky he was being without even realizing. But mainly, you were just appreciative.

You kept your hand at his back for comfort, your nails lightly scratching the sweaty skin that felt like an expanse of new land to you.

"Almost there, princess, I promise," Steve's voice was low and restrained, but he was trying to reassure you, stroking your jaw with his thumb and kissing gently at your neck, sending shivers down your spine at the sensation.

He finally bottomed out, pushing all the way inside of you, and you cried out in ecstasy, your nails digging little half moons into his back. Your hands relished the feeling of the muscles in his back flexing as he made slow, tentative movements. You could feel yourself clenching around him, your walls stretched out to grow accustomed to him - not just his cock, but him. You had to adjust your whole body to him, this masterpiece of a man, and Steve felt the same way. You looked beautiful, a luster of sweat that could easily be mistaken for a natural glow painted on your body and face, your puckered nipples brushing against his own chest. His hips dug into your own as he buried himself inside of you, forcing your legs to spread out.

He liked the way he had this sort of control over you, couldn't deny the fiendish delight he got from seeing you underneath him, so fucked out and almost delicate in that way, having to accommodate to his size. But larger than that sinful delight was the way his heart swelled at your beauty, and the fact that the thing he had longed for so greatly was finally catching up to him. The sound of your moans, whimpers, all those little pants you let out without realizing, he could finally hear in real life, in the safe haven of his own ears.

And being so close to you felt incredibly intimate - it didn't feel like he was hooking up with someone for a quick intake of pleasure, which was what he had sought you out for at the start of it all. It felt like he was with someone who he belonged with.

And he was inside of you. The sound of your strangled cries brought him back to real life. Not only was Steve big, his dick had the perfect curve, reaching depths and angles that no one had ever reached before - only your toys had this power, and it was still incomparable to him. He hadn't moved, he was just letting his body sink into you and become acclimated to the delirious feeling of being all the way inside of you, unforgivably deep, your weeping pussy throbbing around his length.

"Fuck," he let out a throaty groan, his voice harsh and raspy. His mind had gone blank again, focused on only one thing. Your pussy was so tight, holding onto him like a perfect, firm handshake. He had to choke out his words, so enveloped in ecstasy. "That's... so-"

"Mm, Steve," you blinked away tears, finally acclimated to the feeling of him all the way inside of you, needing him to move. "Move, please. I can take it."

"You can take it?" he rasped out, looking down and directly into your eyes, finally moving his hips almost all the way out and then burying himself in again, feeling your wetness slide up and down his cock. "You like taking my cock?"

"Yes, you know I do. It's so fucking good, Stevie," you moaned out, bucking your hips up as you yearned for him to create a rhythm, getting the air knocked out of you when he did the same thing, this time slamming back inside of you, his hips stuttering. "Oh fuck!"

You realized how loud you were being and your hand flew to your mouth without meaning to, but Steve was quick to remove it, shaking his head,

"Be as loud as you need to, princess. Got the whole floor to myself."

You whined at the prospect, and from then on you held nothing back. Steve was fucking you now, settled on a slow, steady pace. He listened to every groan that left those pretty lips of yours, set on giving you your third orgasm of the night. And no one held out better than Steve. His endurance was impressive, you knew that. But you wanted to test him on something else.

"That all you can do, Captain?" the title rolled off your tongue so sickly sweet, causing Steve to pause before he just glared at you and set off again, this time relentlessly, pounding into you hard and fast.

You were caught off guard by the change in pace although it was what you were looking to pull out of him, and your mouth dropped open into an o-shape. This was nothing you could achieve on your own, and not even with anyone else. No, because Steve really was a supersoldier, showing off that speed you had been so in awe of even outside of the bedroom.

What made it even better was that he didn't seem to realize he was fucking you in an almost enhanced way, utilizing his powers in a way no one else could. His name seemed glued to your lips as you mewled out, nails scraping down his back like you were a cat and he was a scratching post.

"Is that enough for you, doll?" Steve asked, his lips brushing against your ear as he buried his face in your neck, even bringing a thumb to your clit and rubbing hard circles that made you feel like you were seeing stars. You could only moan in response and he shook his head slowly. "I need a yes or no, darling. Or is it too much, hmm?"

Steve's dominating purr had you shivering, had your back arching up off the bed, feeling everything so intensely.

"I-it's too much, but it's so - fucking good, oh my god," you blabbered, eyes rolling back in your head as your hands on his back explored the nape of his neck. You tugged at his hair in that way that seemed to signal that whatever he was doing, he had better keep doing it.

He kept slamming into you, rough and hard yet somehow deep and loving at the same time, his hips snapping into yours. The bedroom was filled with the lewd sounds your wet pussy made each time he slammed into you, making Steve blush despite the circumstances. And even with the amount of pleasure you were in, all the dominance Steve had over you in the moment, you fucked him back. You'd never been one to just lay there during sex, or during anything. You liked to be in charge, too.

Steve was ultimately impressed by the way you seemed to sync up with him, inching your hips forward as you slid up and down his cock, your breasts bouncing deliciously with each motion. You were both all moans and groans and hearts swelled with adoration. It felt so surreal to hear the deep moans you longed for through the screen right here in your ear. In the midst of it all you kept staring down at where you were connected, drunk on the sight of him disappearing inside of you.

"You close doll?" Steve asked when he noticed all the tell tale signs of your orgasm approaching: the way your breath sped up, the intonations of your moans, the way you clenched around him like you clenched around his fingers.

"Yes, don't stop," you practically begged him, tears welling up in your eyes from the absolute intoxication you felt, a euphoric feeling that was so new.

"'M not gonna stop," Steve chuckled, shaking his head slowly.

Even if he teased you or assumed a more dominant disposition, all Steve wanted was for you to ride out that pleasure. He didn't know if he had the heart to really make you work for it. And besides, he was getting close himself. He was surprised anyone could last very long with you to begin with, but he set his mind on your pleasure and that was exactly what he would be giving you.

Steve knew he was done for when you wrapped your legs around his waist, slowing his thrusts and forcing him to be practically submerged inside of you. He switched from pounding into you to grinding his hips against yours, moaning darkly as he watched his cock disappear completely inside of you. He seemed to reach your stomach, rearranging your guts. You grabbed onto the back of his head, forcing his face into your neck. When you came, it was like you and Steve were colliding stars, creating a supernova that shone so bright, its light traveling all through your body. You were babbling curse words and praise, moans spilling out of you as you tightened around him and came on his cock.

Steve rubbed gentle circles onto your clit as you rode the orgasm out, nodding and encouraging you, bringing you back down to earth slowly,

"That's it princess, come for me. That's it, you're good. You're perfect."

Steve kept slowly pushing and grinding his hips inside of you, letting you enjoy your orgasm until he approached his own, grit teeth and all.

"Fuck," he cried out, the loudest you'd ever heard him moan, your name tumbling out of his lips like a beautiful lyric.

Steve didn't pull out though, he just slowly lowered himself on top of you, careful not to crush you, keeping his cock inside of you as his cum filled you up in hot, long spurts. You felt ropes of cum disappearing inside of you, biting your lip at the feeling. And what a feeling it was to come inside of you, the only place he wanted to be from now on. It made him feel like you belonged with him, like he had this special privilege that no one else got. You just lay there together, heavy breathing and silence until Steve finally moved, all his cum safe inside of you.

"Fuck," he shuddered again, glancing down briefly at the mess he'd made of your completely ruined pussy. (Ruined with love.)

The comedown left you both with positive thoughts, none of the profound melancholy that could sometimes settle in after sex. Finally it had happened. The thing you'd both wanted since day one, but had never actually expected to be possible. Again you were both filled with amazement at the other, at the knowledge that either one of you actually existed. Steve was laying on the bed besides you and you were both looking up at the ceiling. He glanced over at you, his cheeks still flushed.

"Did you uh... like that?" he asked, back to the humble old Steve he'd always be, making your head snap over to look at him.

You chuckled, still out of breath,

"What do you think?"

Steve grinned to himself, feeling accomplished. All he wanted was for you to feel good with him, in every sense of the word.

"Good," he placed his hands behind his head. He glanced over at you and saw that your body was jittery, almost shaking, your legs especially. He smirked to himself, washed over with that fiendish delight once again. "Do you always shake when you come?"

You narrowed your eyes playfully, rolling towards him and kissing his neck,

"Sometimes... depends."

"Huh... good to know," Steve's lip twitched upward into a smile.

"Mm. I'm too tired to get up," you breathed out, but you had to force yourself to anyways. "But I should pee."

Steve laughed,

"Yeah. You do that."

When you came back from the bathroom after rinsing off slightly, you crawled into bed, not falling asleep immediately. Instead you turned to face Steve, your eyes twinkling even in the dark of his room.

"Steve..."

"Yeah, doll?" he replied.

"I... I really like you, okay? And I know you know that already, and I know you like me too, but it's been a while since I've been in... anything with anybody. And right now, this feels really special. I... want this to be good," you choked out, trying to organize your words, because you didn't want to be too mushy but communication was always important to you and you needed to express yourself.

Steve's heart pounded with adulation for you, and he cupped your face in his hands,

"Of course. Anything, YN. Anything, I'll do it for you. I want this to be good too. Fuck, I've been trying so hard to make everything perfect. I hope that doesn't take away from it being good."

You smiled. You knew you were in the right hands.

"I know you have. And it has been better than perfect, and it's only the second day. I really love every second we've been spending time together. I just... I like you, okay?"

"I like you," Steve repeated, and you had to stop yourself from tearing up.

"Mkay," you nodded, and Steve squeezed your cheeks, making you giggle. "Good night."

"Goodnight," Steve let you go, but ended up pulling you close anyway, the both of you facing each other as you cuddled together, Steve tucking you under his arm, fused together.

Steve didn't want to leave you in the morning although he had to go into the office, so he waited for you to wake up. And when you stirred, he kissed your forehead, waiting for you to come to.

"Morning, sweetheart," he doted on you, and you swallowed, eyes blinking open.

"Morning," your voice was all used up from moaning so much last night, and you could already tell from the feeling between your legs that you were going to be sore.

Steve noticed the way you winced slightly when you shifted your legs forward, and pouted slightly,

“You okay?"

"You're fuckin’ huuuge," you chuckled, sprawling out and stretching out your arms. "I think my cervix is wrecked. Like, indefinitely."

Steve, although he was thrown off by your aggressively dirty humor, laughed, rubbing his eyes. He looked down at his boxers under the sheets, then at you with a faux apologetic face,

"Sorry."

"Never apologize for having a big dick," you smirked.

"Noted," Steve shook his head playfully. "Hate to have to leave you, but I gotta go in this morning. Just briefly."

"That's okay," you smiled understandingly, stretching and letting the covers flop over, exposing your naked upper half which Steve glanced at tentatively, the puckered nipples and smooth skin. You were unknowingly tempting him to stay in, but he knew he couldn't. Besides, you'd need the rest - then again, he could just go down on you, that would be pleasure enough for him too- "Earth to Steve!"

"Sorry, I got distracted," he muttered, and you chortled.

"I noticed. Hey, but you should go, the quicker you leave the quicker you can come back, right?"

"Uh huh. If you need anything, text me. I got something nice planned for us later after this."

"Cool," you grinned wide, and Steve leaned forward to receive a sweet kiss from you. It all felt so domestic and lighthearted.

"Alright, I'll see you."

Steve got dressed and was out the door, driving slow on his way to the tower, his mind flashing back to moments from last night and this morning, fluctuating from burning hot to wholesomely warm. He couldn't help the etch of a smile on his lips even as he walked back into the building. He made his way to his office without seeing anyone yet, but Bucky was standing outside his door, leaning against it with a set look on his face. His arms were crossed and his eyes were narrowed - he looked like he had some serious business to take care of.

Steve raised his brows at the sight. Bucky was already a scary looking guy if you didn't know him, so the fact that he looked so determined right now made Steve think something was up, but he didn't think it had anything to do with him.

"Hey Buck," he chirped. "What's goin' on?"

Bucky didn't skip a beat, certainty ringing clear in his voice,

“I know what you've been doing.”

bonk. share your thoughts!

hope y’all loved this chapter <3

#steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers reader insert #marvel #marvel imagine #steve rogers series #marvel series #marvel smut #smut #orbitariums #girls on film #steve rogers x camgirl! reader #camgirl! reader #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america imagine

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snarwor · 3 years

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moon and old stars - chapter 7

WE BACK Y’ALL. Started the spring semester and you know. Life. Whatever. Enjoy some feels and fucks. <3

moon and old stars masterlist

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They get a hit on Bo Katan’s location the next morning, their last resort for help, but a choice they had to make. Din paced the flat nervously, his helmet off while Cara and Fennec got the ship fueled up and resupplied. They were so close. So close to getting Grogu back, to getting everything as it should be again. Why was he so jittery?

“Drink?” Fett asked from the kitchen, holding a bottle of Corellian whiskey dangling between his fingers like an unruly mouse.

“Anything but whiskey. Gives me a headache,” Din muttered.

“Dunno if you’ll like the alternative. It’s spicewine.”

“Spicewine is fine.” Din chewed at the corner of his thumb, a nervous habit that came back when the helmet was off for long enough. Fett uncorked the bottle and poured two glasses, bringing them over to Din. Muscle memory had him swallowing down the entire glass at once. He never had the luxury of enjoying his food or drink in other’s company.

“Easy, there,” Fett chuckled. “It’ll get to your head faster that way.”

“Isn’t that the point?” Din asked miserably. “To make you forget why you’re drinking?”

“No, but I’ve known people that see it that way. It’s a miserable life, devoting yourself to forgetting.” He looked out at the setting sun, his expression carefully neutral in a way that told Din he’d let on too much at once. Out of respect, he didn’t press him on the topic.

“You know, this could be our last night,” Din said softly. It was a bit vague by words alone, but the way his body angled towards Fett’s, armorless in more ways than one, gave it another meaning. “We should spend it—”

“Din,” Boba said, turning his head to him. There was a weariness in his gaze that said...something. Din swallowed, losing his sure footing, realizing for the first time that perhaps, he didn’t know Boba as well as he thought he did.

“Yeah?” Din asked, his body swaying into Boba’s orbit.

There was a long moment where they just looked in one another’s eyes, troubled for reasons that would make their teeth ache to speak aloud. There was so much pent-up...everything that couldn’t be said, written on their expressions, in their eyes. “You need a haircut,” Boba said, and it deflated the tension in the room a little. On instinct and out of pure insecurity, Din’s hand flew up to the wild mess atop his head.

It hadn’t been this long in awhile. The curl pattern he remembered having as a child was a thing lost to his past. So many years had been spent with clippers or a wickedly sharp blade, hacking at the growth until he wasn’t sweating buckets under the helmet. But now, it was reaching past his ears in certain spots, and tickling the back of his neck, falling into his eyes in a frustrating manner. Of course Boba would know he was more comfortable with shorter hair than longer hair.

“I can go take care of it,” Din said uneasily, glancing back at the door to the bedroom they shared, the broken bedframe just peeking around the corner back at him. He drank more of the spicewine, knowing he’d need to steel himself for his appointment with his reflection.

Boba scoffed, almost offended. Din looked back at him curiously. “Let me?” Boba asked, almost exasperated to even offer his services. Was Din’s hack job really that bad that Boba felt he should take matters into his own hands? At Din’s stunned silence, he continued. “Before the sarlacc, believe it or not, I had a full head of hair.”

“What did you look like?” Din blurted out.

Just like my father.

“Prettier,” Boba said instead. “Come with me.”

They went to the fresher off of their bedroom and Boba instructed him to sit on the floor while he sat behind him. Din looked at the small cabinet before him, already feeling his mind zone out from the body heat Boba’s legs were giving off. It wasn’t kneeling, but the feeling of being here, on the floor with Boba above him, it was close.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a towel was placed around his neck and shoulders. “Easy,” Boba said, pressing a large hand over Din’s head. He filled the sink with water, steam rising from the basin where Din couldn’t see. He started to nervously babble.

“I usually just cut it dry,” Din said. “Just with a knife or something. Never got the hang of clippers.”

“Clippers are a learning curve for everybody,” Boba said with warmth, dipping his hands in the water and bringing them back to Din’s head. He started to run his wet fingers through Din’s hair, distributing the water evenly so he had damp, but not wet hair. Din couldn’t even think to say another thing, the sensation of Boba’s hands on his head proving so distracting he didn’t even notice his head falling forward until Boba gently pushed him back with two fingers on his forehead. They sat there like that, Boba’s hands buried in Din’s hair and gently scratching at his scalp until Din was abuzz with sensation. “You have gray hair at your temples,” Boba observed.

“Sorry,” Din said on instinct, embarrassment turning the tips of his ears a dark pink.

“Nothing to be sorry about. It’s a sign of stature and authority more often than not. Wisdom, experience. I was just starting to go gray when I fell into hell.” Boba’s description of the Pit of Carkoon was concerning. Din didn’t want him to fall into the memories of that experience, not now. He put a hand on Boba’s ankle, just to ground him to this moment, this present. Boba gave a little scratch of appreciation and withdrew his hands. Din almost made a noise of loss, a sad little whimper, but Boba wasn’t going far. He brought his hands back to Din’s head and pulled on the locks a little.

“What are you doing?” Din asked.

“Finding out your curl pattern. My father had these tight, incredibly neat curls, I remember them clear as day, always put together. When I became a man and my hair started to curl tighter like that, I could never get it the same as he looked. Of course, I had been using sonic showers and little else, but hair takes time, hair takes patience and understanding.” It was a bit breathtaking to hear the fearsome Boba Fett speaking about something like this, but he spoke with confidence.

“My hair was never super curly,” Din said.

“You probably never took care of it,” Boba replied. It was blunt, factual. Din couldn’t help but think maybe Boba was talking about more than just his hair. “I don’t have much for you here, but perhaps I’ll show you someday how to take care of it. You won’t want to take a vibroblade to it again.”

Din cringed a little. “You can tell?”

“I can tell.” Boba gave a little hum, a decision made in his head. “Don’t have anything but shears, but let’s see what we can do.”

Gently, Boba began to cut his hair, pulling it in places and letting it fall in others, the soft rasp of the shears and the brush of his fingers through Din’s hair the only sounds between them. Din didn’t feel at all nervous or wary about Boba wielding such a sharp object near his neck. It was...new.

Just like before, the meditative, repetitive task drew a song from Boba’s chest. His hums filled the small room, and Din closed his eyes, remembering the first time Boba had sung it for him. “You remember?” Boba asked in a hushed tone. Din gave a small noise of assent instead of nodding. “Good boy. So attentive for me.”

Din swallowed roughly. He would never get used to the praise, would he? The gentle touches, the attention, the care. Boba folded his ear down a little to cut around the curve of it, and goosebumps broke out all over Din’s skin. “I like when you say things like that,” Din rasped.

“I know,” Boba said, gentle as his touches. “I mean them every time, you know.”

Din’s blush surged up the back of his neck, and Boba was in the perfect position to see it happen. He bit down on a grin. Playing with Din was already something his heart ached to lose, though the surety of that wasn’t certain.

Boba set down the shears after a while and ran his hands through Din’s hair again, shaking out errant clippings and dusting the rest away from his sensitive neck. “There,” he said, a little louder. “Feel it. Length alright?”

Din’s hands followed Boba’s path through his hair. There were no more chunks of unevenness throughout, no dry split ends that he could feel. It was...fuck, it was softer, too. How did Boba do that? It was shorter around the back and sides, most of the length sitting on top. He got to his feet on shaky legs and looked at himself in the mirror.

The man in Din’s reflection was not the one who had walked into the room. How strange, his mind provided, that through the removal of pieces of himself, he could be transformed? He didn’t know that his self-image was so full of hatred and loathing until he saw himself and his immediate reaction was: handsome.

“It’s great,” he choked out, barely breathing.

“Good,” Boba purred, standing with him and dusting off his thighs. “I think you look dashing.”

“Dashing?” Din said disbelievingly.

“Yes, Din Djarin, you are dashing.” Boba caught his gaze in the mirror, before setting his hands on Din’s shoulders. “We should clean you up. Can’t be comfortable with all those little hairs scratching you.”

“I’m fi—”

“Din,” Boba said in a warning tone. “You gonna listen to me?”

“Yes,” Din whispered, unable to look away.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, daddy.” He could no longer hide his blushing ears and cheeks under his long hair, and his affected self shone through clear as day. No more hiding, not for Boba.

“Good boy. Go ahead and undress.”

Boba filled the bathtub and poured in a few oils, leaving the water fragrant and soft. Din accepted Boba’s hand helping him in, and he nearly groaned at the feeling. “What is it?” Boba asked.

“Never had a bath before.” Of course, Greef Karga had tried getting him to visit the Twi’lek healing baths after practically every bounty assignment, but that was a disaster waiting to happen.

“That’s a shame. If you make that noise every time, you’ll be having one as much as I can make happen.” Din’s breath was stolen by Boba’s blunt words, unused to such immodest declarations even now. “Sit.”

Din luxuriated for the first time in his life. Even when bounties took him to glitzy Core planets, he never stayed the night in any of the gilded towers or danced at any glamorous parties. The Crest had been another type of armor in its own right, and the inside of it would have never, ever resembled anything approaching luxury. The bath did its job quickly, soaking heat into his bones and dissipating the remaining tension in his muscles. He was distantly aware of Boba running a soapy cloth over his body, getting his skin just as soft and fragrant as the bathwater.

“That’s it, just relax,” Boba encouraged. Din nodded, swallowing.

“Daddy?” Din slurred after a few minutes of the gentle treatment.

“Yes, jat’ika.” Boba’s voice seemed to go a little lower when Din called him by the name without being prompted.

“Will you hum for me again? Or talk? I like your voice.”

“I can definitely do that for you.” Boba continued speaking in a low tone, letting his old bounty hunting story wander like his hands were. Din was on the verge of falling asleep in the bath after twenty minutes like that. The water was getting cold. “Let’s get you out,” Boba said in a whisper, standing to get the towel.

Din blinked up at him with sleepy eyes, wide and trusting. He stood for Boba when beckoned, and stayed still while Boba scrubbed the soft towel over his body. They returned to the bedroom, and the change in location reminded Din of his half-hearted attempts at seduction earlier. Really, Djarin? We might die tomorrow so let’s fuck?

Boba seemed to have the same thought, chuckling to himself as he pulled off his shirt. “Well, we could try and break it down the other way,” he said, gesturing to the rather sad faultline in the covers, evidence of their rather aggressive lovemaking on full display.

“Or…” Din’s eyes drifted to the cushy armchair in the corner, under a floor lamp. Boba saw what he was implying and tightened his hand around Din’s waist.

“I like how you think.” He pulled Din over to the chair and took his seat, wrapping his hands around Din’s hips. “Look at you,” Boba growled, eyes raking all over Din’s body. “So fucking beautiful.”

Din went beet-red. “Can I suck your cock?” he asked to break up the tension, already going to his knees.

“Fuck, say that again,” Boba hissed, keeping a heavy grip on Din’s wrists.

“Daddy…” Din shuffled forward and let his head fall on Boba’s knee. “Can I please suck your cock? Please? Wanna say thank you, be good for you.”

“You’re always good for me, jat’ika,” Boba grunted, closing his eyes to regain control over his senses. “Take me out.”

Din moved quickly, pulling on Boba’s fly and getting his rapidly-hardening cock out of his pants. Boba let them go down around his ankles, and Din knelt on them when he moved closer. He had a hungry look in his eyes, eager and begging for Boba’s go-ahead. Boba brought his hand to Din’s hair, scalp still sensitive from the haircut. “Open your mouth. Tongue out.” Din complied, and Boba took a moment to slap the head of his cock against his tongue. Unable to swallow the noise down, Din let out a throaty moan, needy and wanton. Boba lowered Din’s head down so he could get used to the stretch again. “Fuck, Din, your mouth is so hot.”

They moved slow, like they had all the time in the world and the galaxy wasn’t waiting on sunrise to shake them out of their daydream. Din needed hardly any guidance from him, already an expert at sucking Boba’s cock in the last several days of staying in the safehouse. Still, Boba kept his hand on Din’s head, tugging lightly at where his hair was thickest. He gave a firm pull on Din’s hair, pulling him off with a wet noise and a raggedy gasp for air.

“Wh—?” Din said.

“Get the slick from the table.” Din scrambled to obey, and climbed into Boba’s lap when instructed. Boba ran his hands all over Din’s body, skin breaking into goosebumps again. “So responsive for me,” Boba said. Din loved the ownership in his words when he spoke like that. He wanted to be Boba’s so badly. He knew Boba took care of his things as diligently as he took care of himself, and he’d been getting that same care. He could get used to it, honestly. Din pressed a shy kiss to Boba’s lips, which was returned in kind.

He expected the slick finger at his entrance, but still gasped into Boba’s mouth with a breathy, “Daddy…”

“That’s right, sweet boy, go ahead. Ride my finger for me.” Din’s thighs shook as he got used to the motion, lowering himself down on the intrusion with a soft groan. He was just thinking about the stretch of Boba’s cock in its place, and couldn’t wait to take it again, and let the universe shrink down to the size of their bodies once more.

“Feel so good, daddy, want more…”

“More?” Boba asked, keeping a hand on Din’s lower back so he didn’t fall backward. He pushed another slick finger in alongside the first, and swallowed down all of the beautiful noises Din made for him. “There you go, there you go. Good boy.”

Din’s breath hitched and he rolled his hips, just letting Boba explore his insides like they had all the time they wanted. By the time Boba got to three fingers, Din was a babbling mess of pleading and pleasure, teeth almost chattering with excited jitters coursing through his veins.

“Daddy, want your cock, want it in me, please, daddy, please give me your cock,” Din begged into Boba’s neck, trying not to drool all over his shoulder but not able to help himself. He was humping the air, drawn between rocking back onto Boba’s hand and searching for any kind of friction on his dick.

“You asked so nicely, I suppose I can give you what you want,” Boba chuckled, his rough breathing the only outward sign of how Din was affecting him. He removed his fingers from Din’s stretched hole and kissed away the soft pout that sprung to Din’s expressive face. Within a few heartbeats, he was pushing up, up, up into Din, finally. Din’s face was contorted in a mix of relief and discomfort. Boba moved slowly until Din’s ass finally rested on Boba’s lap. “Good boy, take me so well. Just stay like that a little longer, just a minute, jat’ika.”

Din shook in his arms, the weight of the universe threatening to break through his mind again. Boba kept a steady monologue in his ear, all praise and filthy fucking promises he knew Din wouldn’t have ever heard in his life. He pressed kisses into Din’s neck and shoulders, looking up at him with reverence and affection in his eyes.

It struck him how vulnerable they both allowed themselves to be around one another. Would they have this tomorrow? Would they let their guards again down after the rescue? Would Boba cease to be important in Din’s life? Boba hid how his hands shook by wrapping his arms around Din’s torso and pulling him up a few inches on his cock. Din gasped in his ear, a beautiful half-formed word lost in the rapids of sensation.

Their skin stuck in places and Din’s legs shook with exertion after a while of keeping this position, but urgency hit them at the same moment, that same fervor of the first night in the safehouse returning for their last night in paradise. Din met Boba’s eyes and the rest of the world fell away. Boba kissed him deeply once more, full of uncertainty and need. He was a selfish man. He would guard these memories with greed and envy as battlements in a house of cards. He found himself jealous of the blood in Din’s veins by the simple virtue of being in Din’s heart.

Their control broke like a snapped string, not even knowing they were fraying under tension. Din cried out and brought a hand to Boba’s chest as the head of Boba’s cock brushed his prostate, stealing his breath somehow more than it had already been stolen in the preceding moments. Boba’s grip found Din’s throbbing dick, and it only took a few firm pumps of his hand before Din was coming all over his chest with a shout. Boba was entranced, watching the long column of Din’s neck tense and flex around a silent plea for mercy. When Din finished coming, Boba wiped the come on his hand along Din’s side, over the jumping muscles of his abdomen. His chest heaved, mouth hanging slack and open and bitten and perfect. Boba held him hard, chasing his own release.

“Wanna come all over your face, jat’ika,” Boba grunted. Din gave another throaty moan and nodded, hands going to the arms of the chair so he was ready to hop off at a moment’s notice. When the familiar tension built in Boba’s gut, he nodded tightly at him.

Din nearly collapsed off of the chair, landing on his ass and gasping. Boba towered above him, quickly tugging at his dick, still slick and hot from being inside of Din. “You want me to come on you, Din?”

“Yes, daddy, please come on me.”

Boba bit off another shout and tensed all over, the pleasure crashing over him like a tidal wave. He groaned as he covered Din in his release, thick white ropes of come striping over Din’s pale skin.

Marking him.

The aftershocks of his orgasm hit him especially hard, threatening to buckle his knees. Din’s eyes were glassy and heavy-lidded, still coming down from his own pleasure. Boba collapsed into the chair again, just watching his boy laid out on the floor beneath him.

In the middle of the deafening silence that permeated between their heavy breaths, Din started to laugh. It was a beautiful, joyous noise. His eyes were squeezed shut, bent double and shaking. His voice was hoarse as all hell, but his laughter felt fresh, like he didn’t have many opportunities to do it that often.

“What’s so funny, sweet boy?”

Din grinned up at him, trying to speak again before breaking into laughter again. It brought a wide smile to Boba’s face, though his body bled exhaustion and tiredness.

“Y-you got me dirty again. After all that work getting me clean.” He found it just too amusing not to laugh at, caught between the too-hard future and the too-soft now. Boba hoped he could trust joy as easily as this.

“Well, I won’t leave you that way for long. Just let me rest a minute,” Boba chuckled.

“Yes, Daddy.”

Read on AO3.

#moon and old stars #my writing #mandalorian fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #din djarin/boba fett #bobadin

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waywardnerd67 · 4 years

Text

Spiraling

Summary: If something could go wrong in (Y/N)’s life then it did. Now she is on the verge of spiraling out of control. In her darkest moment, a hero will come to save her and set her on the path she was always meant to be on. Characters: Dean Winchester, Reader Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Angst/Fluff/Self-hate Talk/Talk of Suicide Word Count: 5040 A/N: The last couple of months have been hard so this is my way of dealing with it. A lot of the details are from actual things going on in my life, but I’ve changed the specifics for storytelling purposes.

“Your cat needs emergency surgery to save her life. In order for us to proceed we need a down payment of $1500 and then the remaining $600 once she can go home.”

“Your starter is bad. You have a battery cable that is carotid. Plus we found that there is a leak in your head gasket and it will need to be replaced immediately. All together parts, labor and tax it will total $4976.”

“Effective Immediately: New Management. Your apartment complex is now under the management of Lindchest LLC. Your rent will go up starting November 2020 to $750 per month. There will be an additional pet deposit of $200 per pet and pet rent of $25 per pet. You will need to log on to our Tenant Portal to sign your lease within twenty-four hours or vacate your unit.”

I read the flyer that was haphazardly tape to my door once more. Looking down to Serenity, my cat with the $2100 bladder sighing, “Looks like you need to get a job.”

I unpacked my laptop letting it wake up only to discover that my internet was not working. I picked up my phone calling the all too familiar number.

“I’m sorry Ms. (Y/L/N), but it looks like there is a major outage in your area due to construction. We don’t have a timeframe of when it will be back up.”

I ended the call flopping down onto my couch, “I would love for one, just one, thing to go my way.”

The last month has been challenging between vet bills, my car being an oversized paper weight and my rent going up one hundred and seventy-five dollars plus two hundred dollar deposit. I did not think anything else could possibly go wrong until I arrived at work the next morning.

“Hey (Y/N), can we meet in my office?” my boss waved his hand for me to follow him.

A sinking feeling settled onto my chest as he asked me to close the door behind him, “I know we’ve had this conversation before, but your attendance.”

Tears welled up beneath my eyelids, but I held them back as he continued, “I know we’re trying to be cautious with COVID, but you’ve already been out sick quite a bit already.”

“I know I was, but my doctor recommended for me to stay out since I had more than half the symptoms of COVID.” My voice quivered at the end as my protective wall was crumbling.

He leant forward on his desk, “I know, but then it was your car issues and now you have a dentist appointment tomorrow morning that you just came to me about this morning. I just want to set up some firm guidelines for you using your time off from here on out. I would also like to see you come in for ninety days straight. (Y/N), you do a great job here, but you actually have to be here to do the job.”

“I know. I can reschedule my appointment for tomorrow and I will work with any guidelines you give me. I’m sorry about my attendance. I love my job and I love coming to work.” I was pleading as a wayward tear slipped down my cheek.

“I never once questioned that. We will work through this together. No need to reschedule your appointment since I approved it already. Going forward I will need at least one week's notice for you to use vacation days, forty-eight hours notice to use your personal days and twenty-four hours notice for your sick days.”

I nodded my agreement not trusting that I could hold the burning sob in my chest from bursting through. I left his office and spent the rest of my day in a complete daze. I drove home in the same daze only to have another flyer on my door from the new management.

“We Missed You! Dear Tenant, we entered your apartment today to make an assessment of it. We have found the following things broken, worn and in need of repair. Since this was not properly taken care of, you will be responsible for all repairs and they will need to be scheduled for completion within one week’s time. Please log on to your Tenant Portal to schedule this as soon as possible. Thank you, Lindchest, LLC”

I caught the edge of my kitchen counter as my legs gave out. The list of repairs was more than what I was renting the place for. I managed to get myself to my bedroom and landed face first on the mattress. Freely the tears flowed down my face and my body shook as overwhelming sorrow ran through her.

Serenity butted her head up against mine, “Hi baby. I’m sorry your mommy is a screw up. Would you want to go live with you grandma?”

She snuggled against my arm purring. My body relaxed as I continued to pet her and listen to her purring until finally I drifted off to sleep. Dreams of a better life tormented me throughout the night. The next morning, would solidify my darkest thoughts into a plan of action as the last bit of bad news I could take happened.

“We will need to extract two molars and all four wisdom teeth. I will refer you to an oral surgeon who can get you scheduled right away. After insurance, you’re probably looking at $1500 to $2000 for everything. You will have to provide fifty percent of the total at the time of service and then I’m sure they could work payments out for you.”

I took a deep breath, “Okay. If you could give me the information I will schedule it. I also need a note for my employer for today’s appointment.”

As I sat in the chair waiting for the dental assistant to come back my inner self yelled loudly.

“You are nothing in this world. You are providing nothing and only taking resources away from everyone. Serenity would be taken care of by your mom. Work will find someone to replace you in a snap. You have no friends. You have no place you can afford to live. I think it’s a sign from up above that now is your time to take matters in your own hands. It’s time to free up your space for someone more deserving. More functional. More worthy.”

“Everything okay?” I looked up to see the assistant holding my papers and I nodded.

I went through the motions of work as my mind was preoccupied of my choices for the evening. Texting my mom, I asked her to watch over Serenity for a while so I could find a new place for us. Nothing sounded out of the ordinary and I as I said goodbye to my co-workers for the evening, I felt peace come over me. Dropping off my cat to my mom, I told her I could not stay since I had plans. On my kitchen table there was one letter addressed to her that would be found when she would come get my things.

I walked a half a mile down to a bridge that was over the river I lived by. The sun had gone down hours ago and now all that was left was for me to finally do something right.

***

Dean Winchester parked his car near the Jefferson Bridge watching as people came and went over it. His brother Sam was flirting with the local librarian, so Dean decided to give him the motel room for the night. He deserved it after all the crap they had gone through. He looked down at his watch, seeing it was coming up at midnight when something caught his eye.

A woman was looking over the wall down to the water. Suddenly he became antsy as he continued to watch her. He got out of his car casually walking towards her so as to not spook her. The cool night breeze blew through her beautiful (Y/C/H) hair. Her body was like a country dirt road with curves for days. His eyes were drifting down her body when she hopped up onto the wall and his heart leaped into his throat.

“Oh no pretty girl, don’t do what I think you’re trying to do.” He whispered as her eyes stayed focused on the water below.

Dean picked up his pace just in time reaching for her as she leapt from the bridge. His hands grasping underneath her arm and at her wrist.

“No! Let me go! Please let me go!” She yelled as I tried to pull her up.

“Sweetheart, trust me, life is not so bad that you should jump off a bridge. Let me help you, please.” He pleaded feeling something deep within him stirring.

She tried to fight against him, but he could feel her losing strength. With one swift move he had her sitting back up on the wall of the bridge. His arm tightly wrapped around her waist as she began to weep.

“No, this is meant to be. I’m not meant to be here. I’m nothing.” She tried to get out of his grasp unsuccessfully.

He pulled her off the wall and carried her to his car, “I’m positive that’s not true. Come on, why don’t I buy you some food and a drink then we can talk about it.”

Her body went rigid, “Why are you being nice to me? You don’t even know me.”

“It’s what I do, sweetheart. I help people who need it no matter what, but if it makes you feel better I’m Dean. Now how about some food and a drink because I’m starving.” He slowly let go of her as she looked down towards the ground.

“(Y/N).” she whispered as she reluctantly, she got in his car sliding across to the passenger side.

Dean drove to the bar nearby his motel glancing over to her every once in a while. Closer now, she was even more beautiful than he originally thought. (Y/N)’s eyes were soft (Y/C/E) and perfect pouty lips. Her body was turned towards her door as she looked out the window but he could imagine himself curling up next to her.

“Let me guess, you’re staying at the Chippewa Motel.” (Y/N) had turned towards him as they pulled into the bar parking lot.

He chuckled, “Yeah, why?”

She let out a soft laugh, “Because those are the only people who go to Sunset Bar.”

For a moment as they got out of the car, Dean’s chest tightened afraid that she would take off. He relaxed when she started walking towards the door and looked behind her to see if he was following. Walking inside, (Y/N) went to the furthest booth in the building. Dean took it upon himself to order them a couple of burgers and beers.

Waiting for their beers, he noticed quite a few men taking an interest in (Y/N). Even red and puffy eyed, she was still catching every man’s eye in the place. Quickly grabbing their beers, he made his way to her staring down every man on the way. He bumped the bottle on her arm motioning for her to move over.

“Thanks.” She muttered, taking a sip and curling herself up on the far end of the bench.

“I wouldn’t normally sit like this with a total stranger, but I think it’s safer for you if I do.” He watched as her eyes followed his widening.

She moved a little closer to him just enough for his fingers to brush against her shoulder, “As much as I don’t want to be a part of this world anymore that is not the way I want to go out.” She waved her bottle out towards the dispersing crowd of men.

“Why do you want to end it all?” His curiosity was getting the best of him.

A beautiful woman like (Y/N) should have everything the world could offer her. Happiness, money, love. His heart skipped at the very word. He pushed it from his mind refocusing on her.

“Have you ever wondered if God was punishing you for something you had no idea you did wrong?” She took a long drag from her bottle and Dean found himself swallowing hard.

“All the freaking time.” He chuckled remembering the recent bombshell that he and Sam were destined to kill one another because of God’s need for a good ending to his story.

She sighed looking up as the bartender brought their food to them. For the first time, (Y/N) genuinely smiled, “Bacon cheeseburgers are my favorite.”

“Mine too.” He smiled back at her before they each took a large bite.

For the next half an hour explaining everything that had gone wrong in her life up until today. From bad decisions, divorce, mental breakdown one and two, loss of jobs, unemployment, her cat, her car, her current job and her tooth. He had to admit the string of bad luck was hard to deny. None of which was a good enough reason to end her life.

When the waitress came for our plates, (Y/N) asked for a glass of water finishing off her beer. I placed my large hand on top hers covering it completely.

“I’m sorry you’ve been through so much and nearly all of it is out of your control. If you could do anything except end your life, what would you do?”

“Well if money was no option then I would grab Serenity and start a new life somewhere far away. Of course, I would keep in contact with my mom, but she would understand me leaving.” She stared off for a moment her face softening at the very thought of leaving.

Before he could stop to think about the words coming from his mouth they were already hitting her delicate ears, “I think I could help you with that.”

“W-What?” Her piercing eyes bore into his with hope, “How could you help me?”

“That is a conversation for a more private place and whiskey.” He chuckled and down the rest of his beer.

Dean started laughing as she practically pushed him out of the booth, “Well come on hero, I know a place that is private enough to talk.”

He threw a few bills down on the table for a tip and allowed (Y/N) to drag him from the bar. She directed him back towards the bridge except this time she pointed to a small, run down apartment complex. He parked next to the car (Y/N) pointed out to be hers, a newer SUV.

“I will deal with you tomorrow.” He pointed to the vehicle giving it a stern look.

Following (Y/N) up the stairs to her little studio apartment, “This is where the hiked up the rent?”

She nodded, “Yeah. At the time, it was the cheapest place to live. You just happen to be in luck that I have a bottle of whiskey stashed away. It’s in the cabinet above the fridge. I’m going to change out of my clothes and freshen up a little.”

Dean watched her disappear behind a room divider and made himself tear his eyes away from watching her gorgeous silhouette. Easily grabbing the bottle and two cups from a local Mexican restaurant he noticed a letter on the table.

“Mom, I know you’re upset. No, I know you’re pissed. I gave up. I didn’t come to you like I promised I would. I couldn’t come to you again with all my problems. I truly believe I was not meant to be in this world and that is why my life has been one shit show after another. I’m taking resources away from this world and not contributing to it. Honestly, everything will move on and you will live out the rest of your life not having to worry about me anymore.

Please take care of Serenity for me. Give her all the hugs and snuggle her extra for me. Mom, this was never your fault and there was nothing you could have done to save me. My mind is made up. The decision was made. I want you to remember what good times there were. I’m sorry for being selfish. I’m sorry for leaving you. Please know I love you very, very much. Goodbye. Love, (Y/N)”

“That wasn’t for you to read.” A small voice brought his eyes from the page but not before a few teardrops could fall onto the page, “You’re crying, why?”

He wiped away the tears falling down his cheeks, “I-I don’t know. I guess reading a suicide note brings out my inner Mr. Sensitivity.”

He tried to give her a sad smile chuckling, but his heart shattering into pieces made it hard too. She took the bottle and cups leading him to the small loveseat. They sat down before downing their first pours of whiskey. The amber liquor burning down his throat and warming his chest. He poured them both another drink before going into his own story.

“My brother and I travel across the country hunting all kinds of… things that go bump in the night.” Dean completely opened up about everything in his life. Carefully watching her every reaction as he spoke and only felt that there was once she wanted to bolt for the door.

“Wait…” she took the bottle and drank from it, “monsters are real?”

He nodded grabbing the bottle for himself, “Yep. Vampires, werewolves, chupacabras.”

Taking a drink, he handed it back to her allowing it all to sink in, “Okay so how does that help me? I’m not interested in hunting monsters or being a monster.”

“Well that’s good because I wouldn’t allow a beautiful woman to become either of those things. I was thinking more along the lines of teaching you how we manage to get unlimited money and then you could move wherever your heart desires. Is that more your speed?”

She nodded, “Now you’re speaking my language. God, it would be amazing to live somewhere remote where I could just write all day long.”

“Well, Sam and I can make that happen for you. We’re probably going to be leaving to head back home in a couple of days. You could travel with us then we could get you all set up and on a plane to all points nowhere, USA.”

Suddenly, (Y/N) launched herself into his arms hugging him tightly, “I can’t thank you enough, Dean.”

His arms wrapped around her and everything felt complete with her, it was strange for him to feel that way. Never once had he ever felt whole but a never ending void deep in his soul that was closing being near her. She pulled away slightly then pressed her lips to his cheek.

***

The next day, Dean had a heated conversation with his brother Sam. Once he was off the phone, he confirmed that I would follow them back to Lebanon, Kansas in my car once he fixed it. He dropped me off at work where everyone noticed the one hundred eighty degree mood change in me. I spent my last hour typing a resignation letter to my boss leaving it on his desk and packing up the few personal items I had.

Dean was waiting for me in the parking lot with his beloved car, “How was work?”

“It was… good. I’m happy to never have to go back to it again though.” He opened the door for me to slide in.

“Dean, would it be okay to stop by my mom’s to get Serenity?” His piercing emerald eyes narrowed for a split second before he smirked.

“Yeah, we can go get the furball.” He chuckled pulling out of the parking lot and leaving that part of me behind us.

I found out that Dean was an amazing liar, but also charming. He won my mom over in a few short minutes as Serenity jumped up onto my lap. I petted her a few times before resting my cheek against the top of her head.

I whispered to her, “Go check him and let me know what you think.”

I watched the shorthair tabby jump off her lap and up onto Dean’s. She sniffed him as he held his hand out to her. His nose began to twitch and she jumped down with a huff before he sneezed.

“Sorry furball, I’m allergic to you.” He sniffled before excusing himself to the bathroom.

Serenity meowed up at me before getting in her crate. The fact she did not hiss was a good sign and I closed her crate up after one last pet.

“So, how did you really meet Dean?” I knew my mom could see right through his story, so I told her the truth, “(Y/N) (Y/L/N), you should have come to me.”

“I know, but I just couldn’t. I was tired of being a screw up. I gave up.” The last few words were a whisper as my mom got up to sit next to me.

Her arms were around me as tears fell from both of our eyes, “Well I’m glad he saved you. Did you find a place to live?”

I pulled away from her, “Kind of. Dean and his brother are going to help me settle into a new spot. I will call you with all the details.”

I looked up to see Dean standing behind us, “I promise to take care of her.”

“Sounds like you already have. Thank you for saving my daughter.” In a rare moment, I watched as my mom got up hugging someone other than me. Dean was tense for a moment before hugging her back.

The rest of the evening and into the night, Dean spent working on my car. I sat outside with him on the green cooler from his car handing him tools. Grease covered his arms, hands and clothes.

“Hey tiny fingers, come here and get this bolt off.” He called out from under the engine.

I stepped on top of the cooler reaching over looking down to see his beautiful eyes staring back at me. Reaching down my fingers brushed against his as I loosened the bolt in question. Getting down off the cooler I found myself straddling over Dean’s chest as he slid out from underneath the car.

“Hey there pretty girl.” He smirked as I moved back from him.

“Ha. Ha. So, what’s the verdict?” I watched as he stood up seemingly towering over me.

I tried hard to concentrate on him, but between the leather musk on his skin and engine grease was making me dizzy, “Hello? Earth to (Y/N)?”

“What? Sorry, what did you say?” I felt my face burning as he stepped closer to me.

“Am I distracting you from paying attention?” Backing up until my butt was against his car, his hands rested on either side of me caging me in.

“I have n-no idea what you’re talking about. So, tell me is my car a goner?” I swallowed the large lump knotted in my throat.

Dean leaned in closer until their noses were almost touching tilting his head slightly, “Your car is fine. The mechanic was trying to get more money out of you. The head gasket is in great shape.”

He stepped back with a smug grin on his face and my body seemingly followed along with him before I stopped it, “That’s great news! The sooner we’re out of here, the better.”

The next morning, I woke up to low murmuring voices. One was distinctively Dean’s voice, “Sammy, I don’t know how else to say it clearer.”

His brother spoke in a concerned hushed tone, “I think you need to come up with another way because you’re sounding ridiculous right now.”

“All I know is that I have never felt this way in my life. Cassie, Jo, Lisa, none of them made me feel complete. None of them took away the gaping, endless void inside of me. I didn’t even think it was possible to feel this way, but here I am.”

Dean sounded distressed and that made my chest ache. I knew exactly how he was feeling since I had felt it since the moment we met. I had been trying to ignore the comfort and hope swelling inside me, but it was getting harder.

“Sounds like you’re talking about love at first sight or even soulmates.” Sam seemed more curious now than frustrated.

I took this opportunity to walk out from behind the wall divider, “Good morning.”

Dean’s eyes met me first bringing a warm smile to his handsome face, “Hey (Y/N), good morning. We didn’t wake you up?”

I shook my head feeling Sam’s gaze on me as I looked down at Dean’s Zeppelin t-shirt covering me, “Um I spilled spaghetti sauce on my last clean shirt. Dean was nice enough to let me borrow one of his.” I felt my face heating up as Sam nodded.

“Uh-huh.” He stood up walking towards me. Sam loomed over me pulling a flask from his jacket pocket, “Could you stick out your arm for me, please?”

I looked over to Dean who was rolling his eyes, “Sam it’s not necessary.”

“It is for me,” He looked at me as I brought my arm out and he poured what seemed to be water on my arm, “Okay, just a few more tests to go.”

I held a bandana from Dean over the small cut on my arm wincing, “What was that for?”

Sam wiped the blade on his jacket as Dean pushed him back gently. His vibrant olive eyes focused on tying the bandana, “Silver blade to make sure you’re not a werewolf or shapeshifter.”

“I’m sorry to be this way, but this whole situation is weird and I have to protect my brother,” Sam held his hand out to me, “It’s nice to meet you, (Y/N).”

I shook his hand, “Yeah, nice to meet you too. Look, as strange as you both think this is, I feel the same way.”

I made sure to look at Dean when I spoke and his eyes widened, “Really?”

I nodded, “There’s a connection here that I can’t explain. Frankly, I don’t care if it’s ever explained to me. All I know is that being with you feels right.”

Sam's disapproving grunt had us both looking to him, “I think we should do a little more research into this. We should definitely get back to the Bunker and maybe ask Rowena for some help.”

A soft meow came from the ground below as Serenity rubbed against Sam’s legs affectionately. He knelt down petting her and I was surprised to see her go belly up.

“Wow, you must be an animal lover because Serenity has never done that with anyone but me.” I knelt down as well petting her soft fur.

For the first time, I watched Sam let down his guard and chuckled, “I’m usually a dog person but hard to say no to a cat who accepts you.”

“Wonderful, you and the furball can take (Y/N)’s car while she and I ride in Baby.” Dean slipped his arm around my shoulders bringing me into his side.

Sam nodded silently as his eyes never left me. It felt as if he were trying to read me, but there was nothing to reveal. By late morning, we were on the road to Lebanon, Kansas. It would be at least a day’s travel to get there, which Dean reassured me that they had done longer trips than this before. We filled the time by talking about everything from childhoods to Winchester's most interesting hunts. When I would get sleepy, Dean would pull me into his side and turn on his favorite mixtape. Being with him was as easy as breathing to me.

After a few stops for food and gas, we finally hit the city limits of Lebanon. The small town looked straight out of a 50’s sitcom. As we drove out of the rustic town, we drove down a long paved drive behind what looked to be an abandoned building of some kind. I was shocked when we came upon a large set of doors that opened into a full stocked garage.

“Welcome home.” Dean said as he parked his car with Sam pulling up next to him.

The Men of Letters Bunker, as the brother called it, was massive. Sam happily told me the history of the secretive group and how their family tied into it. Dean walked by my side with his fingers laced with mine holding my hand. We came to a door with the number eleven on it and Dean pulled her inside.

“This is my room. Of course, it’s the coolest room here except for maybe the Fortress of Deanitude.”

I looked around at all the weapons displayed on the walls. His massive record collection was set up in bins. His desk contained a computer, a small lamp and a tiny picture. I picked it up seeing Dean who was a young child with a woman he looked familiar too.

He gently took the picture from my hand, “My mom and I. It’s the last picture of us together before she was killed,” he placed the picture back in its spot.

After getting Serenity and I settled into our new room, I found myself overcome with exhaustion. Laying down on my new bed with Serenity lying next to me, I feel into the most peaceful night of sleep I have had in awhile. Dreams of adventures with Dean filling my head.

***

Dean sat with Sam in the Library, a soft smile permanent etched onto his face. Sam’s nose was nearly pressed against his computer screen looking into (Y/N). He was waiting for Rowena to call him back when a familiar voice came from near the Bunker door.

“You would have to go find your soulmate and end the world, Winchester.”

Sam and Dean looked up to see Billie standing tall holding her scythe, her hard eyes glaring down at them.

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#dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #READ THE WARNINGS #angst #mentions of self hate #talk of suicide #fluff

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 years

Note

hi could you rec some gen fics

Hi Nonny!!

I’ve a tonne of G and T rated fics, and I’m using this opportunity to clear another list off my Check-List, T-Rated Part 3! It’s a nice long list, so hope you enjoy!

As per usual, friends, the third reblog will be the mobile post (I do that to generate the “full post”, and then “read more” the original post), so I am sorry :P

T-RATED FICS Pt. 3

See also:

T-RATED Pt. 1: Friends To Lovers Fics || [MOBILE LINK]

T-Rated Fics Pt. 2 (October 2018) (LONG POST) || MOBILE POST

Smut-Free Fics Over 50K (Aug 2019)

And When The Night Is Over by Simply Isnt On (K, 329 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Platonic Bed Sharing / Not Slash) – Sherlock and John sleep together.

When Morning Comes by Youarethelightoftheworld (T, 423 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Lazy Mornings/Morning After, Fluff and Angst, Sleepy Cuddles, Domestic Fluff, Cuddling / Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort) – “Sherlock,” says John solemnly, “I’m not sure we can go anywhere today.”

Dinner With John by Zang Bluetterfly (T, 505 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Romance) – “Let’s have dinner, John.” Sherlock secretly smiled. Irene had been right: he had rejected her dinner’s invitation because he already had John by his side, even though the doctor was still clueless about Sherlock’s true feelings for him.

The Moment When by drekadair (K, 509 w., 1 Ch. || TGG Fic, Friendship, First Person POV Sherlock, Introspection, Worried Sherlock) – Sherlock sees John in the pool, and doubts. Set during the end of “The Great Game.”

A Perfect Figure by ecb327 (K, 622 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, First Person POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Introspection, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Light Angst) – Sherlock build a spot in his mind palace for John.

Do You Love Me? by whitchry9 (K, 641 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Family, Epic Bromance) – John asks Sherlock perhaps the most important question.

New World, Old Words by thedeafwriter (G, 641 w., 1 Ch. || Deaf Sherlock, Sherlock Whump, Pining Sherlock, Marriage Proposal, Fluff, Always John) – It was disconcerting to experience. One second, he was laying on the table, breathing in the gas that would make him sleep, the next, he was dragging his eyes open to look around the bright room, trying to wake up.

Five Seconds by xXLadyLovelaceXx (K+, 658 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Introspection, TGG Pool Scene) – In the half-second before Sherlock shoots the jacket, John notices something.

I Knew You Loved Me by inevitably_johnlocked (T, 743 w., 1 Ch. || Morning Cuddles, Fluff, Clingy Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Slice of Life, Morning After, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Declarations of Love, Pet Name, Bed Sharing, Snuggles) – John and Sherlock share a lie-in the morning after their first time. So fluffy and gross your teeth will fall out. Part 4 of I-J’s Tumblr Ficlet Collection

Promises Kept by grannysknitting (K+, 844 w., 1 Ch. || John POV, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship / Pre-Slash, Sherlock’s Violin, Worried Sherlock, John Whump, Post-TGG) – When they were in hospital, Sherlock made a promise to himself. Now he’s keeping it. Set after ’Polygamous Marriage’ but before ’Back in the Saddle’

Possessive by Fang323 (T, 850 w., 1 Ch. || John Whump, Hospitalization, Possessive / Protective Sherlock, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort) – His John did not belong. Not here. Not in this blasted hospital. It simply was not logical.

Concussions And Good Old Fashioned Awkwardness by Belldere (K+, 894 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Hospitals, Mild John Whump, Misunderstandings, Platonic Relationship, Concussions, Not-Gay John, Possessive Sherlock) – When John lands himself in hospital… again, all he wants is to just get out of there as soon as possible, too bad his doctor has other ideas about where John may be getting his injuries. Good thing concussions make everything strangely funnier.

Once Upon A Time by ProfessorSquirrell (T, 908 w., 1 Ch. || Family, Snippets of Life, Romance, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Implied Drug Use, Angst with Happy Ending) – There is a room in Sherlock’s mind palace where nothing gets deleted. And it looks like this…

Burn Burn by Jenn1984 (K+, 925 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TGG, Angst, Worried / Panicked / Possessive Sherlock) – A week after the events of “The Great Game”, Sherlock returns to 221B Baker Street to find it empty.

Texts and Tea by JillianWatson1058 (K, 959 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Texting, Humour, Fluff, POV John, Cranky John) – A John who is woken up at 2:30 in the morning is not a happy John. Sherlock, frankly, doesn’t care. He just wants his tea.

My Unfortunately Average Sized Cranium by Haelia (K+, 996 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Headache, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Past Drug Use, Doctor John) – In which Sherlock has a migraine. ALMOST Johnlock. Not quite.

Do You Renounce Evil? by BenAddiction (K, 1,037 w., 1 Ch. || Family, Friendship, No Slash) – John and Mary have a question for Sherlock.

Five Times John Watson Remained Oblivious by thriceandonce (K+, 1,154 w., 1 Ch. || Five and Ones, Romance, Friendship, Asexual Sherlock, Queerplatonic Relationship) – …And one time he didn’t.

Common Knowledge by The Assassin’s Pen (K, 1,223 w., 1 Ch. || Family, Hurt/Comfort, Sort-Of Parentlock, Angry John) – John can’t sleep because his infant daughter can’t sleep. Sherlock can’t think because of all the crying. And Mary can’t seem to calm the infant either. Sherlock’s robotic response to the problem reveals something very human at his core. Fluffy one shot!

Sherlock Is Not The One You Should Worry About by AllesandraQuartermaine (K, 1,077 w., 1 Ch. || Sally POV, Character Reflection, Praising John) – Sally Donovan’s eyes are opened about a certain Doctor John Watson.

Peacock by ClassyGirlsWearPearls (T, 1,189 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, Cranky Sherlock, Soft John, Hand Holding, Soft Sherlock) – A study in Sherlock and John.

Our Bodies Bend Light by lovetincture (G, 1,211 w., 1 Ch. || Established Relationship, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Beekeeping, Retirement) – They got married. Of course they got married. Snapshots in a relationship. There’s a jar of bees in the bookstore and a cottage in Sussex. Sherlock’s not the marrying kind, and John’s tried this once before, but they’re Sherlock and John. Of course.

Sleep Tonight by Jenn1984 (T, 1,220 w, 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Bed Sharing, Worried Sherlock, Sick John, Hugs/Cuddles, Touch Neediness) – Fingers begin prying open his jacket looking for a wound and John would really like to swat at them. No, he’s not hit anywhere, he’s just damn sick.- John Watson has a fever.

Idiot by Anesthesiologist (T, 1,229 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Alternate TGG / Explosion, BAMF John, Sherlock Whump, Inner Monologue, John Saves Sherlock, POV Sherlock) – What the heck happened? He remembered the pool and Moriarty, but then what? Had he been dying?

Mizzle by MrsNoggin (K, 1,233 w., 1 Ch || Friendship, Fluff, Platonic Johnlock, Humour, Slice of Life) – John can’t decide if it’s raining or not. Sherlock doesn’t understand.

First Thing in the Morning by englishtutor (T, 1,273 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Banter, Humour) – In which John and Mary return from their honeymoon and are immediately plunged back into real life. Can they cope?

And, Usually, He’s the One Who GIVES Me a Headache by Cumberbatch Critter (T, 1,315 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, POV John, Cranky John, Headaches, Head Massage) – A migraine is never fun.

A Better Fate Than Wisdom by flawedamythyst (G, 1,339 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, John’s Sexuality Crisis, Pining Sherlock, Happy Ending, Fluff) – Nearly four hours pass between their first kiss and their second.

Five Times John Didn’t Notice Sherlock (and one time he did) by somanyhands (T, 1,369 w., 6 Ch. || Friendship, Five and Ones, 221B Format Oneshots) – Five times out oblivious John Watson didn’t notice Sherlock, and one time he really did. A short series of (five plus one) 221B fics, just because.

God Save The Queen by Alice Day (K+, 1,398 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Mystery, Friendship) – Sherlock has a new case. John is petrified. The Queen is amused.

I Was Wrong by AllesandraQuartermaine (K, 1,496 w., 1 Ch. || TGG AU, Friendship, Hospitalization / Injury, John’s Self Esteem, Sleepy Sherlock) – Sherlock and John have a conversation a few days after the pool face off with Moriarty. And John hears something quite surprising.

Angel by MrsNoggin (T, 1,513 w., 1 Ch. || Winglock, Friendship, Chromoesthesia, Drugging) – John is an angel. That can be the only explanation. A response to the challenging request for a realistic wingfic one-shot.

You Should Have Let Me Sleep! by theraggedypond (T, 1,542 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Sleepy Sherlock, Cranky Sherlock, Domestics) – After a three day case with no sleep and hardly any food, Sherlock is recovering from it by playing comatose. John finds out what happens when you wake up London’s favorite consulting detective.

Here to Stay by MockJayPhoenix12 (K, 1,574 w., 1 Ch. || Post Reunion, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Headache, Bed Sharing, Care Taker Sherlock, Hand Holding, Fluff) – On Sherlock’s first day home, John wakes with a migraine.

Happy Birthday John by Starlight05 (K, 1,580 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Friendship, John’s Birthday, Shopping, 3rd Person POV John) – When an important date comes up, Sherlock finds himself doing something he never has before - shopping! But will he succeed and manage to get his best friend a present?

Together is What we Have, Together Protects Us by Phantom of the Black Pearl (K+, 1,566 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF, Friendship / Platonic or Slash, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Sherlock, Worried Sherlock, Slice of Life) – After a case one evening in the flat Sherlock voices a concern that causes the pair to consider why they’ve chosen to stick together after all that’s happened.

3:00 in the Morning is a Great Time to Talk by Aztecwarfareandcrumping (K+, 1,775 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt / Comfort, Friendship, Bed Sharing, First Person POV John, Cuddling, Worried Sherlock, Comforting John, Platonic Affection/Love) – “Are you trying to talk your way into my bed?” “Obviously.”

Santa Knows by Itsallfine (T, 1,719 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas Party, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff, Matchmaking, POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock) – Sherlock and John both get exactly what they want from the Yard’s secret Santa exchange. Pure holiday fluff.

Upon This Throne by ifonlynotnever (T, 1,773 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-TRF, Angst, Romance, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Introspection, Imagery, Pining Sherlock, Drug Use, Passage of Time) – Inside Sherlock’s mind is a Palace. Inside the Palace are many rooms. Within the largest room is the Throne. Upon the Throne sits the King.

Love and Bombs by Spark Writer (T, 1,780 w., 1 Ch. || Post S3, Romance, Angst, Pining Sherlock, 1st Person POV Sherlock, Introspection, Ambiguous Ending) – Love and bombs aren’t all that different, John. In the end, they’re almost indistinguishable.

Quite Contrary by Hollyesque (T, 1,805 w., 1 Ch. || HLV Fic, Sherlock Whump / After Mary Shot Sherlock, Hallucinations / Flashbacks / PTSD, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Lestrade POV, ) – A short one-shot, alternate scene to Greg’s hospital visit in HLV. Instead of Sherlock disappearing, Greg is faced with an unexpected reaction to a hospitalized Sherlock and winds up figuring out something that he really would have rather not known.

The Stranger by LaKoda0518 (T, 1,844 w., 1 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, Fluff, First Kiss, For a Case, Mysterious Madman, Lonely John) – John Watson is standing on the platform waiting to board a train to his sister’s after being invalided home from Afghanistan. A chance meeting with a mysterious madman turns his world upside down and changes his life forever.

One in Ten Thousand by Blind Author (K+, 1,856 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TGG, Friendship / Pre-Slash, Discussions of Violence, Worried then Curious Sherlock, Scars/John’s Bullet Wound, Medical Anomolies) – John seems to have unusual mobility for a shoulder wound…

The Three-Word Tin Collection by TheBookshelfDweller (K, 1,885 w., 1 Ch. || First Person Sherlock POV, Mild Pining, Angst, Romance, Hiatus) – What happens when Sherlock has to store the things he wants to say to John while deconstructing Moriarty’s web, but the Mind palace proves an inadequate place to store them?

Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil by PipMer (T, 1,895 w., 1 Ch. || Deaf John, Mute Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Romance, Fluff and Angst, Character Study, Morse Code, Love Confessions) – John is deaf. Sherlock is mute. There are no two people more suited for each other.

The Adventure of the Mysterious Appearance of Tissues by Gwen’s Blue Box (K+, 1,910 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Humour, Sick John, Caring Sherlock, Hurt/Comfort) – In which there is a case, John has caught a cold and is not interested in investigating, Mrs Hudson is away and Sherlock does the shopping.

Baskerville After Dark by Ttime42 (T, 1,921 w., 1 Ch. || THoB, Friendship, Humor, Bed Sharing, Missing Scenes, Cranky John, Cuddles) – John and Sherlock have to share a bed at Baskerville. Gen, but can be preslash.

They’re Taking My Wisdom by whitchry9 (K+, 1,939 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Drugging, Dentists, Friendship, Anxious Sherlock, Humour) – Sherlock goes to the dentist. Of course, being Sherlock, things have to be complicated. Oh and drugs. They’re always fun.

The Perfect Place by SilverSmile (K+, 1,955 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Romance, 5 and Ones, Fluff, Experiments, Bed Sharing) – Sherlock attempts to find the perfect place to sleep, but his little experiment proves to be far more difficult than expected.

Fascination by xLaramiex (K, 1,959 w., 2 Ch. || Friendship, Cranky Sherlock) – Ch1: John returns home to find Sherlock sleeping on the sofa. At least, he thinks he does. Ch2: Once again, John is forced to abandon his food to trail after Sherlock. He doesn’t even know why.

Denial Isn’t Just a River in Egypt by satanatemycat (T, 2,107 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Friendship, Texting, Bored/Cranky Sherlock) – In which John makes a bet with a co-worker. If he wins, she shuts up about him and Sherlock being a couple. If he loses… well, that doesn’t matter, because he won’t lose. Because he and Sherlock ARE NOT a couple. Right?

The Imminent Danger of a Tumblr-Night by Loveismyrevolution (T, 2,135 w., 1 Ch. || Tumblr Fics, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock is Out of His Depth, Humour, Fluff, Pining Sherlock, Military Kink, POV Sherlock) – Sherlock gets into trouble when he pretends to know all about John’s favourite social media site - tumblr. To save face he seeks help from one of the bloggers and gains more answers than he had aimed for.

The Case of the Missing Blogger by nicknack22 (K, 2,147 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Humour, Friendship, Worried / Anxious Sherlock) – Alternately titled, The Case of the Oblivious Consulting Detective. In which Sherlock comes out of his mind palace to discover John missing. 221B does not fair well as a result.

Study in John by chappysmom (K+, 2,158 w., 1 Ch. || Post-ASiP, POV John, Introspection, Friendship, Nightmares, Caring Sherlock, John’s Limp) – After the events of “A Study in Pink,” John lies on the couch in Baker Street and thinks about the whirlwind events of the day. What is he getting himself into?

A Room of One’s Own by whitchry9 (K+, 2,174 w., 5 Ch. || S2 Timeline, Hurt/Comfort, Supernatural, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Coma, John Whump, Worried Sherlock, POV John, Angst, Friendship/Bromance, Hospital) – When a severe head injury lands John in a coma, somehow he ends up in Sherlock’s mind palace. It’s actually pretty nice there, and John is entertaining the notion of staying there, rather than returning to his broken body. But Sherlock isn’t taking it as well, and John can feel him breaking around him.

Crisis Averted by Spartangal22 (T, 2,188 w., 1 Ch. || HLV Fic, Missing Scene After Confronting Mary, Canon Compliant, Sherlock Whump / Mary Shot Sherlock, Family / Friendship, Hospitalization, Sherlock POV, Holmes Brothers) – Lying in the hospital, Sherlock receives some surprising visitors, and manages to deal with two problems he’s been having lately. A missing scene from HLV about a formal introduction that was never made and a visit that was never shown.

Love Hurts by Grac3 (T, 2,215 w., 1 Ch. || Magical Realism, Pining Sherlock, One-Sided Pining / URT, Sherlock / John Whump, Angst, Ambiguous Ending) – In a world where someone’s physical injuries manifest themselves on the person who is in love with them, John didn’t think that there would ever be anyone who was willing to risk falling in love with him - until he got shot on a case, and it didn’t hurt. Unrequited Johnlock.

Coming Full Circle by KCS (K+, 2,358 w., 1 Ch. || Alternate TGG, Friendship, Drama, Violence/Death References, Drugging/Poisoning, Kidnapping, BAMF John, Moriarty POV, Introspection) – Moriarty had John for almost six hours between his abduction and the showdown at the pool - more than enough time to implement a Plan B for his escape should Sherlock call his bluff with the fake bomb vest.

Work On Your Balance by speculate (K+, 2,448 w., 1 Ch. || Embarrassed Sherlock, For A Case, Skating, Fluff, Friendship, Humour) – In which John is actually pretty good at ice skating, Sherlock’s not and insists it’s all for a case , and Lestrade is pretty amused by it all.

The Many Faces of Concern by sdrawkcabemdaer5 (K+, 2,473 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Angsty Fluff, John Whump, Mildly Clueless Sherlock) – John is injured on a case, leading to some surprising reactions and discoveries about their friendship.

Nothing Left Untouched by ForeverShippingJohnlock (K+, 2,617 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Romance, Bed Sharing, Oblivious Sherlock, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Grumpy John, Fluff and Cuddles) – Sherlock rearranges the flat. So what if John’s bedroom is now a research library. It’s not like John needs a bedroom, he can share with Sherlock. They’re friends and John has obviously slept in close quarters with men before and it’s not like Sherlock sleeps much anyway. It’ll be fine.

Insomnia by TheSingingGirl (K+, 2,635 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Humour, Bed Sharing, Sleepy Sherlock) – Sleep is merely the next frontier in what has become the battle to keep Sherlock alive. It’s because of this that John ends up in bed with a sociopath.

Those Days by StillWaters1 (T, 2,663 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD / Sensory Attacks, Caring Sherlock) – If Sherlock had danger nights, then these were John’s danger days.

Domino by Deception’s Call (K, 2,689 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Scared / Worried Sherlock, John Whump, Crying Sherlock, Hospital, Implied Caretaker Sherlock) – When John is injured on a case and is admitted to the hospital, those at Scotland Yard come to realize that perhaps Sherlock Holmes has a heart after all.

Not My Proudest Moment by charlock221 (K, 2,695 w., 1 Ch. || Lunar New Year, Mild PTSD / Panic Attack, Coping Mechanisms, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort) – John tries his best not to get in the way of Sherlock’s cases, but when the vivid noises of fireworks unnerve his senses and begin to bring back unwanted memories of Afghanistan, he cannot help but to hope Sherlock will notice and help him before things go too far.

BBCSH ‘The Comfort of Company’ by tigersilver (T, 2,769 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF/Mary, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Bed Sharing, Grumpy John, Touching, Clingy/Handsy Sherlock, Cranky Sherlock, Fluff and Light Angst) – It’s a trope that John and Sherlock end up sharing in the same bed eventually and I admit I do adore it unconditionally, along with all it infers as to the lowering of defenses and the heightening of trust. I put forth for your consideration that the notion persists because those who think about these things realize these two men are each in dire need of some good company.

One to Spare by englishtutor (K, 2,862 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Friendship, Sherlock POV) – In which Sherlock becomes alarmed at the change Mary Morstan has made in John. With spoilers from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s book “The Sign of Four”

The Rational Machine by Solstice Zero (K, 2,924 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt / Comfort, Malnourishment / Fainting, Doctor / Minder John) – Sherlock passes out. John muses on the reasons why. Containing an absorbing case, two bags of shopping, and a few apples.

Your Pain in my Hands by aceofhearts61 (T, 2,984 w., 1 Ch. || Asexual Sherlock / Straight Homoromantic John, Established Relationship, Asexual Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Cuddling and Snuggling, Massage, Fluff, Bedsharing) – Sherlock and John comfort each other through physical pain, using massage. Part 13 of A Love with No Name

Museums and Laboratories by RhododendronPonticum (T, 3,004 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, Angst, Obsessive Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, Anxiety/Panic Attack, Separation Anxiety, Doctor John, Co-Dependent Sherlock) – If Sherlock’s kitchen was his laboratory, then his bedroom was his museum.

Better Late Than Never by sussexbound (NR (T), 3,021 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4 / TFP Doesn’t Exist, Sherlock POV, Love Confessions, Drunk Sherlock / Sober John, John Takes Care of Sherlock, First Kiss, Jealous Sherlock, Emotional Turmoil) – He suddenly wants John Watson out of his bedroom, out of his flat, out of his life, because he has been lying to himself these last few months, he realises. He doesn’t want John here, not with the way things are. He doesn’t want 221b Baker Street to be nothing more than rest stop John returns to on his journeys between women. He doesn’t want to play co-parent if Rosie is going to be snatched away from him and placed in the arms of whatever nameless woman du jour John lands on next. He doesn’t want to keep being so careful, so generous, so, so…

The General Idea by agirlsname (T, 3,022 w., 1 Ch. || Retirement, Promise of Forever / Proposal, POV John, First Kiss, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Soft Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Crying / Emotional Sherlock, Love Confessions) – After twenty years of friendship, John is used to Sherlock acting weirdly. But the news Sherlock finally brings himself to deliver change the carefully built dynamics between them, and John realises it’s time to act.

Reversed by whitchry9 (K+, 3,072 w., 6 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Medical Anomolies, John Gets Shot) – The man pointed his gun at John’s chest, right at his heart, and shot.’ Wherein John is shot, and Sherlock is the one panicking.

It’s Just Another Birthday by Vintage Tea Party (K, 3,207 w., 2 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Sherlock’s Birthday, Sherlock 3rd Person POV) – When John makes a birthday cake for Sherlock he thinks it’s an innocent enough gesture. But nothing is ever normal with Sherlock and this isn’t just another birthday.

As You Wish by PipMer (K, 3,311 w., 1 Ch. || Bromance/Pre-Slash/Epic Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, John Whump, Hospitals) – When John woke from his coma, he wasn’t at all surprised to see the wrong Holmes brother sitting at his bedside. Disappointed, but not surprised.

The Dangers of Dating by verityburns (T, 3,325 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Case Fic, No Slash, John Whump, 3G, Worried Sherlock) – Sherlock and John acquire a new client… with a very unusual problem.

After the Bombs by VampirePam (T, 3,337 w., 2 Ch. || THoB AU, Drugs, John’s PTSD, Panic Attack, Nightmares, Caring Sherlock, Cuddles, Bed Sharing, Angst, Hurt/Comfort) – In which the drugs Sherlock used to dose John trigger a severe episode of PTSD. When terrors old and new cause John to fall apart, Sherlock must rectify his mistake and pick up the pieces.

Study in Sherlock by chappysmom (K+, 3,790 w., 1 Ch. || ASiP, Friendship, Introspection, Anxious Sherlock, POV Sherlock, Caring Sherlock, Stroppy Sherlock) – Sherlock’s thoughts and feelings during A Study in Pink. What DID he think of John, and why was he being so NICE?

Breakfast, acronyms and brotherhood by Rose de Sharon (K+, 4,074 w., 1 Ch. || TBB Fic, Friendship/Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Protective John, Fluff) – Set after The Blind Banker: my take of Sherlock and John’s conversation over breakfast. S/J friendship, bromance, no slash.

Human Body Pillow by Lunavere (K, 4,122 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Five and Ones, Sleepy Johnlock, Bed Sharing) – A story about the five times John fell asleep on Sherlock, and the one time Sherlock fell asleep on him.

Living Musical by VeeTheRee (G, 4,149 w. 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Hobbies, Summer, Song Fic, POV Sherlock, Painting, Play Fighting, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Love Declarations, Hair Petting, Promise of Forever) – A one-shot of John and Sherlock being domestic during summer. There is paint, fluff, and music from Imagine Dragons, namely from the album 'Speak To Me’, specific song in this one-shot is 'Living Musical’. Part 1 of the Happy Fluffy Johnlock Time series

The Oolong Disaster by unicornpoe (T, 4,151 w., 1 Ch. || John’s Beard, Fluff, Humour, Frustrated Sherlock, John Takes Care of Sherlock, Case Fic-ish, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Possessive Sherlock) – John has a beard. Sherlock has a panic attack.

Between Asleep and Awake by katydidit (K, 4,309 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Sick Fic, Post-TRF / Reunion) – John is sick. Incredibly, extremely, dangerously sick. Plagued by a high fever, he begins to hallucinate, start seeing things that aren’t really there. Because they can’t be there. Can they?

Afghanistan in Baskerville by Amaya Ramiel (K+, 4,357 w., 1 Ch. || THoB Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Drugged John, PTSD / Panic Attack, Hallucinations, Worried Sherlock, John’s Past, Friendship) – What if John hadn’t seen the hound when Sherlock trapped him in the lab? What if instead, his very real nightmares of the war had materialized all around him? Trapped and drugged, John can’t tell what’s real and what’s not. How will Sherlock react?

Mary by englishtutor (K, 4,358 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Romance, No Slash) – In which Mary Morstan attempts to endear herself to Sherlock Holmes.

What You Are Worth by Lastew (T, 4,488 w., 1 Ch. || Observant But Insecure John, Friendship, Crime / Case Fic) – John helps Sherlock with a case, but he questions his real value to Sherlock.

Let Down by Gandalf3213 (K+, 4,505 w., 2 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, John Whump, Insecure John) – John truly is sorry for letting Sherlock down. The only thing he wanted to do was finish the case, but bleeding out in a dark alley makes it harder for him to pursue that murderer running out of sight.

The Care and Keeping of Your Mad Genius by Janieshi (T, 4,553 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TGG, Friendship, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Light Humour/Teasing, Alternating POV, Cranky Sherlock) – If he hadn’t been so focused on holding the bastard still, John would have laughed aloud. This maniac really thought John was the pet in this dynamic?

Storytelling by amythedork (T, 5,126 w., 1 Ch. || John’s Past, Friendship, Humour) – Five times John Watson opens up to Sherlock Holmes, and one time Sherlock Holmes opens up to John Watson. Gen, though could easily be read as pre-slash.

The Refining Fire by Arwen Jade Kenobi (T, 5,451 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TGG AU, Angst, Friendship, Alternating POV (Lestrade, Mycroft, Sherlock), Worried Sherlock, Hospital Recovery) – Fire can burn things to ashes, but it can also burn things together.

Sleepless nights by El loopy (T, 5,467 w., 3 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares/Insomnia, Panic Attack, Worried Sherlock) – Sherlock has a nightmare and John wants to know what it was about. Set during season 1. Three-shot.

Stranded by BeautifulFiction (T, 5,798 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, Communication / Relationship Discussion, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, BAMF John, Doctor John, Case Fic, Drinking, Huddling For Warmth, Friends to More) – When stranded on a derelict barge at high tide, John and Sherlock reconsider their friendship.

When We Sleep by PrincessNala (K+, 6,660 w., 1 Ch || Post-TGG, Alternating POV, Bed Sharing, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Hurt/Comfort, Hugs) – Sherlock needed to feel every beat of his heart, every rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. It was the only way to completely assure himself that John was alive and right there next to him, and not dead, no, never dead…

Hide and Seek by Arwen Jade Kenobi (T, 6,934 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Rev. Reich-ish, Mycroft is a Dick, Depression, Case Fic-ish, Friendship, Reunion) – Pseudo sequel to “The Refining Fire.” “You owe him the truth, and you owe me the proof that will convince him that I had no part in this.”

Lost for Words by notactivesherlockaccount (T, 6,709 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, John Whump, Temporary Mute John) – While on a case, John temporarily loses his ability to speak, and he and Sherlock have to find a new way to communicate.

BANG by ElvendorkInfinity (T, 7,016 w., 3 Ch. || Post-TGG AU, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Worried / Scared Sherlock, Alternating POV, Whump, Hospital Recovery, Open Ending) – 'I should warn you,’ Sherlock says, his voice steady and his eyes fixed on Moriarty. 'You are sadly misinformed.’ And he fires. Prequel to M Is For Moriarty

On Favors and Keeping Score by Ewebie (G, 7,622 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Sick Fic, Fluff, John Whump) – John woke up to the horribly unpleasant sound of his clock alarm. Which meant he’d slept through his phone’s alarm. And for a moment he glared blearily at the noisemaker before smacking at it with his palm. Ugh, he felt like rubbish. The back of his throat was burning with the irritation that heralded a proper dose, his nose was threatening to drip every few seconds, and he had the uncomfortable flush that normally suggested a fever. Nothing high, just uncomfortable. Nothing deadly, just irritating. Nothing worth calling in sick with, just a full day of discomfort in the face of other people’s discomfort. It was going to be a day where he was forced to bite his tongue from telling people off. “You’re not as sick as I am, so off you pop.” Part 7 of Tumblr Shorts

The Hours Before Midnight by Lady Sam Mallory (T, 7,773 w., 1 Ch. || TGG Fic, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Torture / John Whump, Kidnapping, Drugging, Alternating POV, Worried / Protective Sherlock) – Moriarty doesn’t play fair. John must deal with hours of torment from Moriarty before going to meet Sherlock at the Pool at the end of the Great Game and Sherlock must deal with the consequences of his boredom.

What Did I Do Wrong? by Starlight05 (T, 7,880 w., 5 Ch. || Hurt Comfort, Angst, John Whump, Hospitalization, Worried Sherlock, Emotional Turmoil, Nightmares, Sherlock Being Dumb) - After John almost dies on a case, Sherlock disappears. So John is left to figure out what he can do to get his best friend back. Meanwhile Sherlock, guilt-ridden and willingly alone, is doing everything he can to stay away.

Victim, Bait, Hero, Friend by KimberlyTheOwl (T, 7,887 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TGG Epilogue, Angst, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Past Kidnapping / Torture / Implied Rape, Panic Attacks, Worried / Possessive Sherlock, Lestrade is a Good Friend) – Some insights into why John was perfectly willing to throw everything away for a chance to kill Moriarty at the pool. Trauma, ugliness, and finally healing. Some nice supporting work by Lestrade as well.

A Friend Indeed by Sanru (K+, 8,190 w., 1 Ch. || Missing John, Friendship, Drama, Introspection, Possessive Sherlock, Worried Sherlock) – Something has gone terribly wrong with a supposedly simple case. John Watson is missing. While the search for him is proving to be fruitless, it has made Sherlock realize that having an emotional attachment to someone may have its disadvantages but he liked being able to call John his friend. Now if only he could find out what happened to him…

Until I See the Sun by Vintage Tea Party (T, 8,194 w., 3 Ch. || Nightmares, Mild Whump, Friendship, Mild Violence, Angst) – After a particularly dangerous case, John suffers from night terrors. Will Sherlock be able to comfort him? Will he be able to find out what is really troubling John?

Made for You by Raxicoricofallapatorious (K, 8,440 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Sci-Fi, Androids) – When John was shot in the shoulder he was decommissioned and his memory and personality was wiped. Sherlock was given the blank droid and he quickly learns that this droid is more than it seems. John just so happened to come back and no one can fathom how or why. Johnlock if you squint.

Five Times Sherlock Realized He Was Getting Older by Mildred Graves (T, 9,215 w., 6 Ch. || Five and Ones, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Old) – … And one time it didn’t matter.

You fit me, Sherlock Holmes by orphan_account (G, 10,077 w., 1 Ch. || It’s An Experiment, Bed Sharing, Slow Burn, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Questionable Science) – An unfortunate series of events leads to John accepting being a part of Sherlock’s study in physical intimacy. As the days pass by, John realizes he might be in for more than he bargained for. He doesn’t entirely mind.

A Is For Aftermath by ElvendorkInfinity (T, 10,567 w., 1 Ch. || Injury / Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Pre-Slash/Bromance/Platonics, Hallucinations, Introspection, Insecure / Worried John, Big Brother Mycroft, Alternating POV, Anxious Sherlock, Self-Deprecating, Mildly Possessive Sherlock, 3G Moment) – John is still hallucinating, Sherlock cannot sleep, and Lestrade has a new case for them. But will life at 221B ever be able to return to normal? Epilogue to M is for Moriarty.

The Dying Doctor by Transcendental Starlight (T, 11,258 w., 3 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Sick John / John Whump, ACD Rewrite) – Loosely based off ACD’s “The Dying Detective.” Sherlock relives a case that should have killed him, but instead resulted in John being hospitalized for a deadly disease. Sherlock endeavors to catch the murderer, while attempting to envision a future without John Watson. No Slash.

Sherlock’s Sleeping Habits by Cumberbatch Critter (T, 11,424 w., 16 Ch. || Friendship, Sleepy Sherlock, One Shot Collection, Fluff, Domestics) – In which John learns about Sherlock’s sleeping habits. Series of unrelated oneshots featuring the one and only ADORABLE Sleepy!Lock! Fluff abounds.

The Hand You’re Dealt by Lady Sam Mallory (T, 12,092 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Light Violence, BAMF John, Doctor John, Injury, Friendship) – Sherlock, John and several others are trapped in a building when an explosion disrupts the crime scene they are working.

A Building of Bridges by Unique (K, 12,325 w., 3 Ch. || Drama, Alternate First Meeting, John’s PTSD / Flashbacks, Mute John, Dialogue-Heavy, Caring Sherlock, Friendship) – No one would ever send Sherlock in to diffuse a stand-off; but on one unlikely day, that’s exactly what happened. “Congratulations, Lestrade,” he called out sarcastically. “You’re traumatizing a war veteran.”

A Different Kind of Love by Svenja The Strange (T, 12,357 w., 6 Ch. || Fluff, Humour, Romance, Five and One) – The five times people noticed and the one time John did. A collection of oneshots (some short, some longer) raising the issue of Johns endless dilemma of being deemed for Sherlock’s boyfriend.

Always the sun by Rose de Sharon (K+, 12,377 w., 3 Ch. || Song Fic, Alternate Post-TGG, Friendship/Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection / Reflection, Injury Recovery, Obsessive / Protective Sherlock, Nightmares, John’s Past, Bed Sharing / Cuddles) – Sherlock ponders about how much his life has changed since John has become his flatmate.

A Study in Linguistics by rizandace (T, 12,425 w., 1 Ch. || S1 Canon Compliant/S2 Divergence, Friendship, Slices of Life, Communication, Cranky Sherlock, Hospitals, Sherlock Whump, Pet Cat, Jealous John, Sherlock’s Violin, Anxious Sherlock, John Whump) – Sherlock Holmes and John Watson had their own language. It was a language of few words and minute facial expressions, and John had learned that it was nearly the only way to have an honest conversation with his eccentric flat mate.

Red-Handed by englishtutor (K, 12,682 w., 6 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, John is Stabbed, Panicking / Worried Sherlock, Alternating POV’s) – In which an accident occurs which might change everyone’s life; or it might solidify already blossoming relationships. A re-working of my original story, taking place four days after “Dancing Around the Subject,” when John and Mary get engaged.

Shuteye Shenanigans by Ayakae (K+, 13,263 w., 8 Ch. || Post-TRF, Friendship / Epic Bromance, John’s Nightmares, Angsty Fluff, Bed Sharing, Humour, Cuddles, Taking Care of Each Other, Domestics) – John Watson has never slept with Sherlock Holmes. Never ever ever. And never will, thank you very much. Well, there was that one time, but John didn’t count that. It was completely different, just like the second time it happened. And the third. And the fourth. Epic bromance, but it can be read as pre-slash if you wish.

Understanding by rizandace (T, 13,268 w., 15 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Worried Sherlock, John Whump Then Sherlock Whump) – Sherlock’s hiding something about his newest case, and John wants answers. Set post-TGG. Friendship fic, mostly, with brief entrances from Harry and Lestrade just for fun.

First Response by Arwen Jade Kenobi (T, 13,516 w., 8 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Five and Ones, Whump / Injury) – Five times John had to perform first aid on Sherlock and one time Sherlock had to perform it on John.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #t rated fics #my fic recs #Anonymous #long post

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beca-mitchell · 4 years

Photo

now our hearts are racing (1/1)

summary: Beca and Chloe in a failed exercise of self-control.

word count: 6.4k

Rated M/E for sex. Smut. Coitus.

Read below or on ao3.

There is a very specific look in Chloe’s eyes all night. If Beca had to describe it, it’d be the kind of look she could write songs about, sure, but she’s not exactly certain her label would be too happy about the content exactly.

It’s a look that sends a very specific rhythm rushing through Beca’s body, ending somewhere between her legs—a myriad of emotions and a very specific heat coming together with the promise of sweet, desperate relief.

Fuck.

Her thighs clench together.

“Stop it,” Beca murmurs. She fixes her gaze on the scenery beyond the window to distract herself, but she isn’t seeing. Instead, she sees Chloe’s smile, the barest hint of it within the window’s reflection.

“I’m not doing anything,” Chloe responds. “You, however, look beautiful.”

“I know what you’re doing,” Beca says immediately, turning to face her girlfriend—her fiancée—and fixing her with a stare.

Chloe’s smile is radiant and disarming and it makes Beca feel all kinds of sentimental. Gross. “What am I doing?” Chloe asks.

“Being all—“ she gestures vaguely. “—you know.” Beca lowers her voice, glancing surreptitiously at their Uber driver who is paying no attention and chatting away through his earpiece. “Like that.”

Chloe’s smile becomes a grin and Beca decidedly does not like that. “Like how, Mitchell?”

“Like…how we almost got kicked out of Aubrey’s housewarming just two weeks ago,” Beca says very quickly, her ears choosing that exact moment to grow hot.

Chloe snickers—the audacity—and runs a comforting hand over Beca’s knee, just under the hem of the, as Chloe put it, “very pretty and totally you” red dress Beca is wearing. “I don’t think that was my fault at all.”

Beca’s jaw drops. “Yes it was!” She shoves Chloe’s hand off her knee before pointing an accusatory finger. “You were doing that stupid thing with your—your face and then—“

Chloe sighs, almost wistfully. “—and then Aubrey somehow figured out why we were in the bathroom.” She moves her hand back over Beca’s knee, this time sliding up a few inches. “Tense?” she questions innocently, noting the very stiff way Beca is sitting.

“Wary, you heathen,” Beca mutters, but makes no move to get Chloe’s hand off her skin again. Instead, she sighs and gently flips Chloe’s hand around so their fingers can intertwine.

For a few moments, the car is silent. Beca takes the blessed opportunity to breathe and not look at how cute Chloe looks in her jacket and shorts. Or how nice her neck looks, framed by loose tendrils of soft, red hair.

“I bet you won’t last an hour,” Chloe says, breaking the silence.

“Chloe.”

— — — — — — — — — —

It’s honestly kind of rude, the way Chloe just assumes, correctly, all these things about Beca. From the moment they met, she has slowly and systematically torn down all of Beca’s walls at a comfortable-enough pace that Beca hadn’t even realized it had happened until suddenly she had her hands tangled in Chloe’s hair and their lips pressed firmly and desperately together.

(It’s a story for another time, but it is a story that Beca will never forget. Beca can recall everything about their first kiss, from the salt she could still taste on Chloe’s lips and tongue from the tears they shed together and the way Chloe’s hands had clenched tightly into the fabric of her t-shirt, like she was afraid to let her go. To this day, Beca is still amazed that Chloe clung on that tightly, so much so that she hadn’t given up hope in any regard.)

Chloe assuming that Beca wouldn’t last an hour isn’t necessarily right, but it’s not far off the mark either. Beca just knows she’s in for it when Chloe decides to take off her jacket and check it as opposed to carrying it with her like she would usually. Beca opts to leave hers on, keeping her eyes trained on the way Chloe’s necklace sparkles when it catches the light, nicely accentuated against incredible collarbones.

Beca swallows nervously, taking Chloe’s hand as they make their way through the crowded area. The space, alive with people and music, is shockingly spacious for a New York City bar. Though the lights are dim, Beca catches the assortment of drinks and food scattered on various tables and mismatched chairs. It vaguely reminds her of college and though the thought makes her nose wrinkle, she pushes it down because Beca had promised her one of her co-producers she’d attend his going-away get-together (“not a party”, she was promised) and she really just can’t have a reputation for being the label buzzkill as much as the tabloids would love that.

It also helps that pretty much everybody with whom Chloe comes in contact is immediately enamored by her and amazed that Beca could land that. It’s honestly a weird concept to Beca, that most people these days would say the opposite as her fame continues to grow—that Chloe is the lucky one—but how wrong they all are because Beca knows (and Chloe has confirmed) that time was just on their sides. Beca is amazed that Chloe loves her every day and Chloe has expressed a similar sentiment—her amazement at how they continued to be in each others’ lives so significantly and powerfully.

(Most recently, a similar expression from Chloe and just the morning before: kissing the side of Beca’s face and the corner of Beca’s eye as they both slowly woke from slumber. Chloe’s fingers gently pressing against Beca’s stomach, holding her close. Beca never felt more content to awake in the midst of a dream. Then, Chloe had murmured just how much she loved her—how lucky they were that their paths crossed again after everything—before tilting her head gently to press the sweetest of good morning kisses against her lips.)

But really, it’s more that Chloe doesn’t know how much she exudes sheer sexuality (or maybe she does and Beca’s just a fucking chump) by simply existing. It’s in every smile and every brush of her hand against Beca’s arm like a ghost intent on haunting her for the rest of her life (she can hear Chloe’s voice already: “But I’m a cute ghost, right?”).

Or that she does know and she really doesn’t care (as much as she claims she does) about Beca’s well-being. Beca makes the mistake of looking at Chloe briefly as they near the too-small table her coworkers have commandeered. She has to quickly look away because Chloe is smiling at her—leering at her, really—and slowly licking her lips in a completely inappropriate way for their public setting.

Beca is already thinking before she gets to the table.

The thing is, being intimate with a person regularly, as awesome as it is, just means that Beca knows things now. Knowledge she had not been privy to before (back when she had her head firmly buried in the sand). One of those new nuggets of wisdom happens to be that she knows how much Chloe likes having her ears touched. It had surprised Beca at first, when she had grazed Chloe’s ears a little bit roughly during a heated make-out session, but Chloe hadn’t complained. Quite the opposite—the whimper she had let loose, right against Beca’s neck had been enough of a tell.

So naturally, Beca as a quick and adept learner is keen to apply her knowledge with precision.

These days, ear-touching? It’s almost a surefire way to get Chloe riled up in a pinch.

As Beca nears the table, she tries to school her expression into one of total innocence, but she knows Chloe has already picked up on a shift in the air because her eyes immediately narrow on Beca.

“Hi,” Chloe greets, reaching up to accept the drink from Beca’s hands. “Thank you—oh.” She is not prepared for the way Beca immediately plants herself right on Chloe’s leg and drapes an arm over her shoulder. “Hello,” Chloe greets again, though with a noticeably different tone. Beca tilts her head to smile at her.

“Hi.” Chloe’s hand slowly comes up to hold her hip. Beca refuses to falter even though it’s like every little touch she gets from Chloe is enough to set every last nerve aflame. “You wanted a rum and coke, right?” she asks in the steadiest voice she can muster.

Despite that, Chloe’s eyes narrow in suspicion, though the gaze is offset a little by the various lights dancing across her face. “Yeah. Thank you.” She relaxes for a moment, this time tilting her head up to press a quick kiss to Beca’s lips. Beca resists the urge to deepen the kiss immediately for a multitude of reasons, one of which is that there are many pairs of eyes attentively on them at the moment and the other being that she doesn’t want Chloe to know exactly what she has planned.

Sighing, Chloe settles back and leaves her arm around Beca’s back comfortably. Beca takes a sip of her drink innocently, shifting discreetly on Chloe’s leg. The faintest thrum of heat rushes through her body, but she pays it no mind for the time being. Instead, she carefully lifts her hand from where it rests just over Chloe’s shoulder and lifts it to first play with strands of Chloe’s hair near her ear. Chloe stiffens, but relaxes as she pinches Beca’s hip gently in warning.

“I have to know, Chloe,” Beca’s (extremely intolerable and annoying) co-worker, Dean, begins to say. Beca briefly tunes in but focuses primarily on twirling the wisps of Chloe’s hair. “What is Beca like at home?”

At that, Beca shoots him an annoyed expression while Chloe shifts a little uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”

“Like is she constantly attached to her computer? Working? Outperforming us all the time even when she’s not in the studio or office?”

Beca can just feel Chloe’s protective hackles start to rise. She rolls her eyes. “He’s joking,” she says loudly, finally speaking. “He’s just jealous because my album’s being fast tracked and his isn’t.” She tilts her head just enough so it barely leans against the side of Chloe’s head and bares her teeth in a blinding smile. “Isn’t that right, Dean?”

Chloe giggles, relaxing a little bit. “I don’t know,” she admits, a playful lilt to her voice. Beca groans internally. Chloe and her penchant for dramatics. “You’re so attached to your headphones and laptop.” She drums her fingers against Beca’s hip. “Like...super attached,” she says, adding a raised eyebrow for effect.

Beca raises an eyebrow of her own, barely stifling the way her body seems to clench involuntarily at the ever-so-subtle tightening of Chloe’s fingers against her hip. She slowly lifts her hand to Chloe’s ear, gently running the tip of her index finger against the soft, delicate skin of her earlobe. Somehow, Beca is still vaguely aware that the conversation continues around them, but the strikingly hot expression that flashes through Chloe’s eyes at that exact moment sends the most peculiar rushing sound through Beca’s ears.

She strokes her finger down around the curve of Chloe’s ear, watching as even under the dim lights, a visible flush rises up Chloe’s neck to her cheeks.

Stop, Chloe mouths.

Beca grins, shaking her head ever so slightly.

“Brat,” Chloe murmurs, just low enough for Beca’s ears to pick up on.

— — — — — — — — — —

They end up in a secluded corner after Beca’s coworkers end up engaging in a rowdy sing-off across the way from the bar. Totally and completely not by Beca’s design, she and Chloe are engaging in a heated make-out session probably a touch too inappropriate for a very public space. Beca can’t bring herself to care, not when Chloe’s lips glide over hers with purpose. Not when Chloe’s teeth catch onto her lips gently at first, then firmly.

A gasp escapes her when Chloe tugs her lower lip with force. Beca finds herself further breathless and intoxicated off Chloe’s touch when Chloe’s hand curls posessively around her back and onto her waist with such a solid, precise grip that Beca can do nothing more than press herself further into the oversized chair and Chloe’s body.

Beca fumbles with her drink, letting the empty glass drop to the table by their side. She doesn’t hear glass breaking so she immediately refocuses on Chloe’s lips on hers. Chloe tastes sweet and sharp, like the perfect mixed drink on a hot day.

She grabs Chloe’s wrist, sliding Chloe’s hand roughly up the inside of her thigh, moaning softly when Chloe’s fingers graze the rough lace of her underwear. It takes a few seconds of languid, soft kissing before Chloe fully realizes just where her hand is. Her hand shifts, her knuckles brushing against the front of Beca’s underwear. Beca is so far past being embarrassed and yet she still finds it in her to blush when Chloe’s hand pauses the moment she realizes exactly how wet the fabric of Beca’s underwear is.

“You’re filthy,” Chloe murmurs, low and quiet against Beca’s mouth. Beca barely registers that, nodding a little frantically before pulling Chloe’s face back against her own. Still, Chloe pulls back, breathing heavily. “Here?” she questions. Her knuckle grazes Beca’s clit, causing her hips to jolt. “Right now? Where everybody could see?”

Beca almost says yes.

She almost agrees.

Almost begs Chloe to fuck her hard right in that fucking arm chair. She could give in. She can see it in her mind’s eye: Chloe’s hand and arm lewdly displacing the fabric of her dress—a dress perfect and fitting for such an occasion—and just sliding her hand up her thigh until she hits the apex of Beca’s thighs. The soft exhale of Chloe’s breath when she realizes how wet Beca is already. The flash in her eyes—a combination of determination and lust—which Beca would struggle to see; she would struggle to hold on to Chloe’s gaze in the darkness and she would struggle to simply keep her eyes open long enough.

Instead she steadies herself and stands abruptly, casting a surreptitious glance around to ensure nobody had caught them. As if she is completely unaffected, Beca smooths out the crinkles on her dress and tries not to smirk at Chloe’s mild slack-jaw. Instead, she reaches out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind Chloe’s ear.

Chloe stands as well, a little abruptly for all her usual grace and care. “Where are you going?” she demands over the bass all around them.

“Bathroom,” Beca says without bothering to check if Chloe will follow her.

— — — — — — — — — —

(But she knows she will.)

— — — — — — — — — —

Chloe doesn’t follow her immediately, which Beca finds both disappointing and relaxing. She quickly takes a steadying breath as she grips the sink with both hands.

“Stop it,” she hisses at her reflection. “Calm down.”

It normally isn’t this bad when she and Chloe go weeks without seeing each other. It’s hard knowing that Chloe still has to finish this last year of veterinary school while Beca’s stuck in Los Angeles putting the finishing touches on her second album. It’s hard being apart for long stretches of time, especially after the exhilaration of their engagement. Especially knowing that they have the rest of their lives together.

But Beca’s impatience tends to run thin these days.

Her eyes flick up to the door when it pushes open slowly, revealing Chloe’s carefully-neutral expression. Slower still, Chloe lets the door close behind her before reaching out to lock it behind her.

“Unlocked?” Chloe asks in a light tone. “What if I were a stranger?”

“I’d tell you to get out,” Beca replies.

“You would, huh?” Chloe says in a tone that suggests she’s done talking. Still, she takes the time to wash her hands slowly, making Beca’s eyes zero in on the action. She licks her lips in anticipation. “Are you telling me to get out now?” Chloe asks, making her way over as if they have all the time in the world.

In a sense, they do. They always will, when it’s just the two of them.

Beca’s breath catches immediately when she feels Chloe’s hand slide around her waist before settling firmly on her belly. She grunts when Chloe’s body pushes tightly against her back, trapping her against the sink.

“You’re terrible,” Chloe mumbles, lifting her chin to hook over Beca’s shoulder. Her breath is warm against Beca’s neck. “I know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?” Beca echoes faintly.

Chloe reaches under her dress abruptly to snap at the elastic of her underwear. Both the sound and the sensation immediately cause a flood of wetness between Beca’s legs. Instinctively she tightens her thighs and presses her legs together, but only for a moment because Chloe uses her own leg to gently kick her legs apart. Beca groans at the sensation of cool air hitting the sticky, wet skin between her thighs, embarrassed at how soaked she is and how much she aches for Chloe to just touch her.

“You so want me to touch you right now, don’t you?” Chloe asks. Her free hand, the one decidedly not holding Beca’s limp form up against the sink, slides up the bare skin of Beca’s arm, right to her shoulder before gently reaching up to ghost over Beca’s neck. Like a feather, Chloe’s fingers gently brush against Beca’s skin, never lingering in one area too long. Beca longs to clamp her legs together again, but Chloe’s foot is still firmly planted against the inside of her left foot. “Right here?” Chloe rasps, voice thick and hoarse right against Beca’s ear. “In this bathroom of all places? Where anybody could see?”

“I’ll be quick,” Beca blurts before she can even stop herself. She’s too fucking turned on to be embarrassed. “Fuck, baby, just two fingers, please—”

Chloe’s fingers are suddenly on her neglected, swollen clit, firm and unforgiving. Like floodgates, Beca feels everything all at once—the stickiness between her thighs, the steady, muted pulse just between wet folds, and the incessant ache that cries out for Chloe’s fingers, her tongue. All of it, all at once, like a freight train of arousal.

Beca yelps, her head hanging forward as her hips immediately bear down on Chloe’s mercilessly still fingers. She’s aching and desperate and just so ready to fucking come—since Chloe fucking looked at her when they left Beca’s apartment. All those fucking glares and heated gazes from across the bar—

Beca whimpers, rocking her hips just right so that Chloe’s fingers slip against the soaked fabric of her underwear, right against where she aches for Chloe to sink her fingers. Gasping then, her eyelids flutter shut and she loses herself in the sensation of rocking wantonly against Chloe’s fingers, reaching out to brace herself against the sink. She can almost see it in her mind’s eye, not unlike earlier: the way her dress is displaced indecently, how flushed her cheeks are, Chloe’s lips ghosting along her neck.

She could come just like this.

Right against Chloe’s hand and Chloe wouldn’t have to take off a single item of clothing. Right there, in the heinously lit bathroom, right against a white, porcelain sink, Beca Mitchell—Grammy nominee, chart topper, Chloe Beale’s fiancee—could come—

“Fuck!” Beca hisses when Chloe removes her hand abruptly. She takes a moment to breathe heavily, panting while her clit throbs in the absence of Chloe’s fingers. She can’t bring herself to look up in the mirror’s reflection (even though she’s pretty certain that Chloe is smiling, the fucker).

Chloe’s breath comes out in a sharp burst against her ear, startling her. The arm around her waist tightens ever so slightly, holding Beca upright. It is the warm breath that warns Beca, but she can do little to prepare.

“I could let you do that, you know,” Chloe murmurs. Her voice is low—lower than her usual tone—and dripping with all kinds of promise. “Just rub yourself desperately against my hand until you come.” Beca whimpers in desperation. “But then nobody wins.”

“I don’t give a fu—” Beca chokes, splutters then. Chloe’s hand is back between her legs, cupping her dripping cunt delicately over the ruined fabric of her underwear. She groans at the sensation, finally lifting her eyes to stare reproachfully at Chloe through the mirror. Chloe’s eyes are dark, almost impossibly so.

And hungry. Beca knows she could get Chloe to cave, if she would just shove her damn underwear to the side and—

“I love seeing you like this,” Chloe rasps, her voice still low and thick against Beca’s ear. Her eyes seem to brighten when she realizes Beca is paying attention to her; that Beca’s eyes are fixated on her; that Beca is, and always will be, completely trapped by Chloe Beale in more ways than one.

“Chloe,” she whispers, spinning around as best as she can in Chloe’s arms. She winces when her hip and lower back hit the sink, but the pain is soon forgotten when she reaches up to pull Chloe in for a wanting, messy kiss. Moaning softly, she keeps her touch light, cupping Chloe’s cheek and jaw and slanting her lips just right. “Don’t stop.” Chloe’s hands are suddenly smoothly sliding under her thighs, lifting her firmly onto the edge of the sink. Disregarding the precarious balance she has, Beca quickly wraps her arms around Chloe’s shoulders, pulling herself closer to Chloe’s warmth. She shudders, breathing out a stuttered breath against Chloe’s neck. “Please.” She nips at Chloe’s jaw. “Chlo,” Beca murmurs. She’s not in control of her own actions anymore. She just needs Chloe to touch her—to take care of her like she always does without fail—before she combusts on the spot.

“Make it up to me when we get home,” Chloe mumbles against Beca’s mouth. “Because we’re going home after this.”

“I promise,” Beca whispers. “I—” she is cut off by Chloe’s fingers bypassing the ruined fabric of her underwear and slowly sinking into her. Two, as requested.

Chloe’s mouth immediately covers her own again, stifling the cry that leaves Beca’s lips. Three weeks without feeling the familiarity of Chloe’s fingers pressed inside her, having to make do with her own hands. Left to her own devices.

The pressure is enough, so much so that it is almost overwhelming. Beca bucks up against Chloe’s hand as best as she can while Chloe attempts to hold her upright lest she fall right into the sink. Beca manages to grunt through the force of Chloe’s thrusts, gripping hard to hair at the back of Chloe’s head: “More.”

Chloe makes a strangled sound, somewhere between a whimper and a moan and her wrist twists so she can accommodate one more finger between Beca’s legs. Trapping her lower lip between her teeth, Chloe pulls back to watch Beca’s face for any discomfort and to observe the sheer pleasure that crosses her face at the exact moment Beca feels it.

“Oh fuck,” Beca whimpers with the little breath she has remaining. She drops her hips against Chloe’s hand immediately, eyes crossing at the feeling of three fingers pressed tightly inside her. She clenches, barely, and rocks her hips against experimentally. Chloe’s fingers twitch inside her. “Fuck,” Beca whimpers. “Fuck, Chlo–”

Chloe pants against her ear, pulling Beca as close as she can—as close as she dares—with her hand trapped between their bodies. A high-pitched whine sounds from Chloe—a tell that Chloe is on the verge of her own orgasm or at least somewhere close—and that alone is enough to set Beca off. It’s too much.

Finally, sweet aching relief courses through them both. Beca, more than Chloe at the moment, if the expression on her face is anything to go by.

“Breathe,” Chloe whispers, pressing a lazy kiss against Beca’s jaw. “You’re okay,” she promises with her own shaky breath.

Beca takes a deep breath to steady herself, trying not to gasp too desperately. She likes that Chloe’s hand lingers for a moment between her legs before she pulls her fingers out achingly slow. Beca’s body thrums, clearly not finished with the night.

Eventually, Chloe steps away and helps Beca slide off the sink, both of them demure and muted in wake of their very public and very inappropriate lust-fueled sex.

Chloe begins washing her hands and Beca figures she should do the same to just take her mind off things and offer herself some relief in the form of cold water. But it is Chloe’s voice who breaks through her haze once more.

“You had a promise to fulfill, right?”

— — — — — — — — — —

Beca makes good on her promise and then some—she figures it’s the least she can do.

And how much she can do, she thinks, gazing at Chloe’s wet and swollen folds between mercifully-spread legs.

“Beca,” Chloe says in warning.

Before Beca can wonder exactly why her brain is so hardwired to respond to Chloe’s voice when it’s like that, she simply succumbs to the feeling of being wanted and needed—being wanted and needed as much as she feels for Chloe (as she does always, but tonight has been an excess of emotions just a bit more than usual).

Chloe’s lips part in an exhale, momentary desperation flashing in her eyes when something in her façade crumbles at the sight of Beca on her knees between her legs. “Please,” she whispers, reaching out to tangle her fingers in Beca’s hair. She does not tug or pull, simply holding Beca’s head in a show of affection and love amidst the heat.

This is all Beca needs.

— — — — — — — — — —

Beca rotates her sore jaw around for a moment before she licks the taste of Chloe off her lower lip. Chloe’s body is so far up the bed at this point, her legs bent and spread with an obscene amount of wetness streaked along her thighs. Beca tilts her head, admiring a visible bite mark along the soft skin of Chloe’s thighs.

Even though the muscles in Chloe’s legs continue to twitch and spasm for a few more seconds, Beca can’t resist as she reaches out to trace her fingers lightly up Chloe’s legs, starting from her knees and ending just at the crease of her thigh. Her fingers catch on the come streaked along soft skin, the sensation alone sending heat rocketing back between her legs.

Already, the memory of the club is far in Beca’s memory, but the phantom memory of Chloe’s tongue between her legs jolts her arousal again, reminding her of the ache between her own legs.

“You’re so pretty,” Beca murmurs, smiling at Chloe’s slightly dazed expression. She musters an innocent expression and bites her lip, waiting for Chloe to respond.

Chloe doesn’t respond for a moment, lifting a hand to comb through her own hair. Her body is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, her hair is plastered to her forehead, and her cheeks are rosy—visible even under the dim light of their bedroom—with some exertion. Beca just admires the view, specifically the rise and fall of Chloe’s chest and, as Beca rises on her knees to crawl over her girlfriend’s body, the prominence of her collarbones.

Just as Chloe starts to settle down, Beca sits astride Chloe’s waist and bites her lip when her clit licks up against Chloe’s skin. Chloe’s eyes open and she tilts her head with interest to see Beca gazing back at her.

“Hi,” Beca says, attempting nonchalance.

“Hm,” Chloe hums, making no move to do or say much else other than move her hands up Beca’s thighs.

“Chlo,” Beca murmurs.

“Beca,” Chloe responds. Her voice is barely above a whisper. “C’mere,” she mumbles, sitting up to meet Beca for a kiss. Beca takes her time languidly tracing her tongue over Chloe’s lips before slipping her tongue inside Chloe’s mouth. Softly, Chloe moans, tightening her grip on Beca’s hips in a brief show of possession even in the privacy of their bedroom. The kiss is lazy, but Chloe’s lips and tongue are thorough, like she is trying to taste herself off Beca’s lips.

Chloe nips at Beca’s bottom lip before releasing it. “It’s not fair,” she murmurs.

“What isn’t?” Beca asks, distracted. Chloe’s hands are allowing her to start a slow rhythm, back and forth in her lap.

“You still have your dress on,” Chloe replies, pulling at the tight fabric at Beca’s waist.

“Should I take it off?”

Chloe chuckles. “It might be more fun if I take it off.”

The ache between Beca’s legs only intensifies when Chloe tugs the dress over her head. With her eyes still on Beca’s face, she tosses the dress aside before her hands trace a familiar path up Beca’s stomach to her breasts. Beca exhales, low and heavy, keeping her eyes on Chloe’s as best as she can, no matter how much she wishes to close her eyes at the sensation of Chloe’s thumbs flicking across her painfully-stiff nipples. An answering sensation pulses between her legs again, feeling less and less like an ache and more like a want.

A hot, desperate want making itself known with every press of Chloe’s fingers against her skin.

“Having fun?” Beca asks, less steady than she’d like. Her breath catches on the second syllable and her eyelids finally flutter shut when Chloe’s fingers pinch at her nipple.

“Kind of,” Chloe says simply, before moving to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to Beca’s chest, circling around her nipple before finally enveloping pebbled flesh. Beca’s hips jolt at the sensation, canting down into Chloe’s lap.

Chloe moves her ministrations to Beca’s collarbones, her kisses becoming soft and slow—her kisses eventually become languid nips and sucks along her neck, eliciting a series of coos and breathless whines from Beca’s throat. Clearly pleased at the sound, Chloe lifts her head and giggles before capturing Beca’s lips again, clearly intent on being frustrating.

But the want Beca feels isn’t quite satisfied.

She wants Chloe again.

Before Chloe realizes what is happening, she shifts so she is pushing Chloe onto her back. Chloe’s eyebrow rises in interest as her gaze flicks between Beca’s eyes and Beca’s kiss-swollen lips. The determination and fire in Beca’s eyes stokes the heat between Chloe’s legs more and she shifts, rubbing her legs together, ever-mindful of the way Beca’s gaze tracks over her face and body with rapt attention.

Beca kisses her. Hard.

One of Beca’s hands slips between Chloe’s legs. Chloe doesn’t notice it at first; she is too preoccupied with Beca’s tongue to feel her fingers sliding along Chloe’s thigh, lightly slipping across soft skin until they tap against Chloe’s clit in a sudden, incessant rhythm. The action causes a full-torso jolt and a quick, quiet grunt to leave Chloe’s lips.

“Chloe?” Beca asks quietly.

“God, please.” Chloe would be remiss if she didn’t acknowledge how much she had been craving Beca’s touch all night. She is only aware of just how much she wants her now, with Beca’s hips cradled between her legs; with Beca’s hair tickling her shoulder as it drapes over Beca’s shoulders messily; with her aching cunt pressed against Beca’s midsection without any real discernible pressure.

“How,” Beca starts, licking her lips, “do you want me to touch you?”

Another question, another spike of heat between Chloe’s legs. The pleasant reminder and even more vivid memory of Beca eagerly eating her out just moments earlier float to the forefront of Chloe’s conscience.

“Your hand,” Chloe says instantly, her hips twitching in anticipation already. “Your fingers,” she clarifies, clearing her throat at the instant darkening of Beca’s eyes.

Beca’s hands are quick to obey, one arm sliding around her back in a loose, easy hug, while she trails her other hand down Chloe’s stomach, fingers skimming gentle abs and soft skin. Beca’s nose comes up to brush against Chloe’s, a gentle barely-there kiss following. The gentle, comforting weight of Beca’s body atop hers shifts into more than just pleasurable warmth. Chloe can feel every last nerve-ending alight with the sensation of Beca’s warm body against her own; every last sensation of sweat-slicked skin against sweat-slicked skin feels like another jolt of pleasure.

Beca’s touch is so light and her affections are surprisingly gentle. Chloe’s body thrums incessantly with so much heat and desperation that she almost loses it right there, at a gentle graze of Beca’s teeth against her lower lip. Finally, Chloe’s head tilts back as Beca’s hand reaches her clit, deft fingers gently scissoring around swollen flesh.

A loud whimper escapes as Beca presses the heel of her hand to Chloe’s clit and her index finger runs up and down Chloe’s wet slit. Chloe’s hips rotate in a slow grind against Beca’s hand—lazy, deep circles—following the press of Beca’s hand. The ever-present throbbing deep in her belly makes itself known even more. Hot and wanting, the sensation dips with each swivel of Chloe’s hips; with each dip of Beca’s fingers.

And finally—

Chloe cries out, unable to refrain from restraining herself. Her head drops to Beca’s shoulder, eyes falling shut quickly.

Beca’s fingers are so warm, dipping just barely into Chloe’s entrance as a warning of sorts before Chloe’s hips shove up impatiently and she’s slipping inside even more. Chloe is keenly aware of how wet she is now—how easily Beca’s fingers are gliding through her folds (but not in where Chloe’s cunt aches for her love greedily).

Beca’s breath is hot against her ear. “Fuck, Chloe,” she exhales with reverence. “You’re soaked.”

An obvious statement all things considered, but it is the way Beca says it with pure sex and want dripping from her voice. Her voice is low and raspy, like so much emotion sticks in her throat, unwilling to escape just yet.

It makes Chloe want to elicit more sounds from her—makes her want to draw out every last ounce of pleasure from Beca until she is hoarse from screaming Chloe’s name.

(But Beca can try again later.)

All Chloe can focus on is how her world has started to blur at the edges. The build-up doesn’t take long. Chloe’s body feels so fucking full, like she burst at any moment. She clutches at Beca’s shoulders, digging her fingers into soft muscle and prominent shoulder blades.

Beca’s wrist twists and her fingers slide all the way inside Chloe.

“Fuck,” Chloe hisses. “Bec, right there.”

Chloe comes very close to feeling tears in her eyes. Her eyes sting, nothing more, but she feels momentarily overwhelmed by how well Beca’s fingers fill her. She thought she had felt full before, but now—“more, baby,” Chloe grunts, pushing her hips to the limit of how far Beca’s fingers can fill her. She tries to shift to afford Beca more room and together, they work in a third finger into Chloe’s opening—a reminder of how it had felt when Chloe had three fingers inside her fiancée not too long ago.

A strangled groan erupts from Chloe’s throat. With Beca’s three fingers pressed so tightly together inside her cunt, she begins to finally see white around the edges of her vision. Gasping, she rocks her hips back and forth before lifting herself and dropping herself back down on Beca’s fingers. There is no rhythm, Chloe thinks. Not here—not in this bed with Beca Mitchell of all people. For once, neither of them can fathom a rhythm, not when all Chloe knows is Beca’s body pressed against her own.

“That’s it,” Beca rasps. “You’re so fucking tight, Chlo. I can feel you around my fingers.”

It takes a moment to formulate words, particularly as Beca is not typically prone to being verbose during sex. “I wanted you all night,” Chloe whimpers in response. “God, I’ve been thinking about this since you fucked me in the bathroom. Fuck, Beca—fuck—you’re so good to me.” Words are tumbling out of her lips at an incredibly fast pace until she is nothing but a mess in Beca’s arms, incomprehensible sounds and bitten-off words echoing into the air around them.

Chloe sees it fully now, the white light and forces herself right into it.

She closes her eyes tighter and pushes out a harsh breath. Beca’s fingers press and circle—her thumb on her clit, her fingers pressed tight inside her—and then Chloe sees white and breaks.

Her body coils tight, muscles along her abdomen and thighs contracting as she shoves herself against Beca’s body; as she clenches hard around Beca’s fingers. Even if her fingers aren’t quite as deep as Chloe typically likes, the fullness and the stretch burns through her, white hot like the best of adrenaline rushes. She grunts, a high-pitched sound escaping her unbidden, and comes hard with Beca holding her close.

Beca’s whispering in her ear, something calming probably but Chloe is still falling and flying all at once as Beca strokes out the last of her orgasm with a steady hand.

Beca pants harsh breaths against Chloe’s neck as she flops to the side. She slips her hand the plane of Chloe’s stomach, enjoying the jolts that flutter beneath her palm.

Chloe, breathless, tilts her head to press a kiss against Beca’s forehead. “You’re so good at that,” she praises.

Beca hums a response, kind of. “Just that?” she asks. She feels Chloe laugh breathlessly, hot air coming out across her shoulder. Chloe follows it up with a kiss to sweat-slicked skin, both of them taking a moment to just breathe together. Chloe’s hand scrapes up her back to gently trace Beca’s tattoo before her grip tightens and she is pulling Beca closer to her body.

“So much more,” Chloe promises.

“Thank you,” Beca mumbles. She sighs and leans up on her elbow so she can see Chloe’s face. “I love you,” she says quietly before she gently presses her forehead against Chloe’s.

Chloe smiles, gently pulling Beca’s head down so she can kiss her thoroughly. “I love you too,” she replies through soft, sticky kisses. Beca sighs against Chloe’s mouth, immediately feeling her body warm from the feeling of Chloe’s fingers tracing pleasant patterns against her back. “Even if you were totally impatient tonight.”

Beca musters a grin, harnessing energy from the pleasant tingle she feels when Chloe’s lips touch her skin. “Who said we were done though? I think we have all weekend.”

#bechloe #my fanfic #fanfiction #beca mitchell #chloe beale #mine #text

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boxoftheskyking · 4 years

Text

Okay this little fic (that ended up way longer than intended) is called I Had a Daydream of a Time Post-Censorship and then imagined a sequel to the series and then was like But they did all of canon and then imagined what episode I would like SO

---

He does still love life on the road, even after three years. Sure, he’s feeling his age a bit more, wishing for a soft bed and a bath after only one night sleeping rough. Maybe depending more on his talismans instead of the direct combat he’d itched for as a kid. Maybe his breaks at Cloud Recesses are getting longer, closer together, but he’s invested in the disciples now and Lan Zhan likes it when he’s around.

Lan Zhan understands him, though, the need to move, the search for something. Wei Wuxian suspects he’s slightly envious of the freedom. He has been nothing but admirable as Chief Cultivator, but Wei Wuxian knows that the constant squabbling grates on his nerves, the need for decorum in all situations gets constricting in ways he’d never admit. Well, he’d never admit to anyone but Wei Wuxian.

I do miss talking over my ideas with you, Lan Zhan, he continues his letter, chewing on the end of his pen. Tomorrow I head to Moling to deal with a restless spirit. It’s an unusual case; the locals say it’s possessed a number of their young women. I wonder if they aren’t simply cursed with headstrong daughters! With my luck, I’ll end up pissing off all the parents and talking the girls into running off together to find a great adventure. You know I’m a romantic at heart.

I’d best wrap up now and leave time for a bath. It may be the last time I’ll be clean for a while. If only possession didn’t lead to so much projectile... everything.

Give my love to A-Yuan, and keep some for yourself,

Wei Ying

His cheeks feel a bit warm as he seals the letter, but he’s certain it’s just the extra jug of wine he’d brought up to his room. He loves the road, but it’s cold and lonely, and he takes comfort where he can.

---

Lan Wangji is very near his wits’ end. The Yao and Ouyang clans are at it again, shouting over each other in his meeting room with no regard for the multiple Lan Sect rules they’re trampling over. He himself hasn’t said a word in at least twenty minutes, leading him to wonder why they needed to drag him in for this argument at all.

“Clan Leader Yao, Clan Leader Ouyang,” he says, trying to stay as calm as possible. This becomes even more difficult as he is forced to repeat himself to be heard. “It is time that we all break for dinner. I recommend that you each take your meals separately, take some time this evening to meditate, and we can reconvene in the morning.”

The men look unsatisfied—Lan Wangji is quite sure they have fuel enough to continue for several more hours—but his tone leaves no room for disagreement. They bow with unison “Your Excellency’s” and make their way out of the pavilion.

Lan Wangji is more grateful than ever that he’s due to eat dinner with his brother. He’s found that simply sharing a raised eyebrow with Lan Xichen over the annoyances of clan politics does wonders for his spirits. Of course, a full debrief with Wei Ying, complete with colorful insults and overdramatic plans for vengeance, is better still. But Wei Ying only left a month ago and won’t be back for a while yet.

He understands why. He understands so, so well. Every dream he’s had for the past month has been of open sky, lightly-traveled roads, an elbow leaning so casually on his shoulder as he looks out over the countryside. But, as usual, he’s gotten himself tied up in layers of responsibility and commitment and can’t see a way out. What he wouldn’t give to be Wei Ying, just for one day. To make the choices he would make, to blow everything up and leave it all in ashes behind him.

That’s not exactly fair. Wei Ying is not a destructive force. Wei Ying grows lotus blossoms on a mountain of corpses.

He meets Lan Xichen at the jingshi, prompt as ever. His brother gives him a small smile with something knowing behind it, but the food arrives before Lan Wangji can ask. They eat in companionable silence, Lan Wangji allowing one audible sigh to express his feelings towards the day in general. Lan Xichen replies with an understanding hum, and Lan Wangji already feels better.

When the dishes are cleared and the tea is poured, Lan Xichen hands a stack of paper to him.

“A few messages came today. And a letter you will be eager to read.”

He shouldn’t be so eager. He definitely should wait until his brother has left before opening it, but he can hardly help himself. Lan Xichen looks only amused, anyway, and not offended at all. It’s another bit of Wei Ying’s influence, Lan Wangji’s newly relaxed feeling around his brother.

Moling, the letter says. Possession, restless spirit.

And keep some for yourself, it says. Lan Wangji’s ears feel warm.

“Where is Young Master Wei?” Lan Xichen asks, oh so casually.

“Heading to Moling, spirit possession.”

“Hmm.” Lan Xichen takes a long sip of his tea. “It’s not far, Moling.”

Lan Wangji stills. “No, I suppose not.”

Lan Xichen says nothing, but the silence suddenly feels very loud. Lan Wangji knows his brother well enough to see a progression of thoughts cross his face. For a moment he’s sure that he’ll speak again, but then he settles back, whatever it was remaining unsaid.

“Would you like me to play for you, brother?” Lan Wangji offers. It’s been something of a tradition since Lan Xichen came out of seclusion. Lan Wangji knows he hasn’t touched his own guqin, but he’s grateful to be able to offer some comfort with his own.

“Please,” Lan Xichen says, and shuts his eyes.

---

The spirit possession is very real. Wei Wuxian regrets his flippant comments about headstrong daughters after meeting with the third family, huddled worriedly around the young woman whose eyes are vacant, cheeks hollowed, fingers bandaged from where the spirit forced her to rip out her own fingernails with her teeth. Wei Wuxian has hope that she will recover, that she’ll heal and reanimate, but there’s no easy fix for a situation like this. The more he’s travelled and studied and learned, the more he’s lived as man who can’t depend on a strong reserve of spiritual power, the more he has come to understand that some wounds to the mind and spirit can only heal with time. Time, love, patience. What would my life have been with just a bit more of each, he thinks to himself, not bitterly. He can look back on his decisions without regret, but sometimes he thinks of the boy he’d been and wishes he could visit him, just once. He’s not sure what wisdom he’d impart, but he’d say something.

He arranges to visit the currently-possessed girl in the house her family has fled. He can see on her parents’ faces the grief of leaving their beloved daughter to the mercy of something dark and violent, and he sees so much that is familiar in the glare of her older brother. To see his sister in pain and to be powerless to help. He claps the boy on the shoulder and orders them to an inn for the night.

He gets about two steps into the house before the girl lunges at him, screaming, nails tearing at his face. He manages to tie her with Binding and hold her with a few simple talismans. It’s a tricky thing, possession, because you don’t want to damage the host more than you can help.

“Liu HoTing,” he says, as gently as possible. “I’m here to help you.”

She snarls at him, and he flinches when he feels a spray of spit against his face. So many fluids with possession.

“I’m going to help you,” he says again, “but you need to help me. I know you’re in there, and I need you to fight. You’re a strong young woman, and your parents and brother are waiting for you.”

The girls falls still for a moment, something familiar flickering behind her eyes, but then the spirit takes over again, snapping her head violently from side to side.

“Hey! Cut it out. Come on now, pick on someone your own size.” It’s a ridiculous thing to say, as the girl isn’t that much smaller than him. He pulls out Chenqing and plays a quick, lilting melody. There are more straightforward tunes that will work just as well, but he can’t help a little extra flair. He hopes that the Liu HoTing who is still conscious inside can take some comfort in a happier melody.

Expelling the spirit is ... exactly as he expected. Along with black smoke and blood, he gets a glimpse of the dinner the Liu family had last night. He sighs, but muscles up a smile anyway as he releases the Binding and catches the girl before she hits the ground. He removes his talismans and slaps her face, gently. When she opens her eyes, she looks past him, breath coming lightly.

“A-Ting,” he murmurs. “Soon you’ll be able to rest, but I need you to be strong right now. I need you to run. Can you do that? Run to your family.” She only blinks up at him, but when he sets her on her feet, she manages to stand. He can feel the resentful energy gathering in the corner of the room and half-carries her to the door. “Run!” he hisses, and waits until she takes a few staggering steps before slamming the door and throwing on a few sealing talismans.

“Okay,” he says, twirling Chenqing in his fingers and facing the growing darkness. “Let’s see what you are.”

---

He’s not sure what goes wrong. One moment he’s got the spirit cornered, playing a melody for sending it to rest. The next, he’s coming to with a jerk and a flash of pain to find his fist full of his own hair, pulled out bloody at the roots.

“Ah, fuck,” he manages before the spirit takes over again, throwing him forward and slamming his head into the low table. He manages to keep ahold of scraps of his consciousness, though it would be nice to miss the immediate nausea and the ringing in his ears. He gets upright and manages two strong notes on Chenqing before the spirit casts it into the corner. He gets a moment to his own mind but wastes it on a harsh laugh as he imagines what he looks like from outside, jerking and flailing like a puppet with a drunken operator.

When he comes to again, he’s holding a knife. It’s not his; the spirit must have found it in the house. He deflects the slash intended for his throat up across his jaw. “Not my beautiful face,” he grits out, forcing the knife into the wood of the door. He whistles an interval of banishment and feels the spirit lift slightly, but it slams back into him, constricting his lungs. He fights for his consciousness, but feels the darkness pulling at his mind, feels the darkness inside him rising up to meet it.

No. This is my mind. This is my body. He’s not a scared kid anymore, voices singing to him from the Amulet at his waist.

Despite everything, his confidence, his skill, the darkness rises like water. He feels the handle of the knife in his hand, and lets his eyes close. He whistles again, but can’t think of the right notes, the right power. Everything is swirling darkness, nausea.

YOU ARE NOTHING, the spirit suddenly speaks in his mind. LITTLE HERO. SO ALONE. NO HOME.

This is my mind, he insists, but a question mark rises up in the dark.

SO ALONE. It laughs and he feels it spill over his tongue.

No. Lan Zhan is— Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan.

A familiar melody rises up inside of him, and he manages to let it out, breath wavering but the tone still true. Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan.

It’s not enough. The knife sinks in to the hilt, blood spilling from his gut over his fingers. The melody falters, ends.

“Lan Zhan,” he gasps out. “I’m sorry.”

“Wei Ying!”

The door at his back shudders and he sinks down to the ground.

“I’m sorry.”

Flashes.

Lan Zhan’s face, eyes wide, lips moving.

“Lan Zhan,” he coughs. “Are you dead? Don’t be dead, Lan Zhan, you—”

Darkness.

“—not again, Wei Ying, you will not, you will not, please, please, please, don’t—”

Pressure. Heat. Wind.

Nothing.

The innkeeper is very accommodating. Lan Wangji eventually needs to insist on no more food, no more tea, no more extra blankets for Wei Ying.

“I’m sorry, Young Master. The demon, it took my niece. We’re so grateful, we’re just—”

“I understand,” Lan Wangji interrupts, rudely, drawing on every ounce of decorum he’s built up in three years as Chief Cultivator to incline his head in apology. “I would be best if I could focus on his healing.”

“Of course. Sorry, sorry.” She manages to bow the entire way out of the room, and probably down the hall as well.

In reality, there’s very little he can do at this point. The town healer did the best she could, and Lan Wangji supplemented as much as his limited ability allows. He manages to play a few healing songs on his guqin, but he’s not sure how effective it will be on a body with little spiritual power. After a while, he can’t stand to be away from the bed any longer. He traces Wei Ying’s jaw where the rough bandage mars the delicate line of it. He’s allowed this much. For healing.

And keep some for yourself.

He looks down at himself, white robes half-soaked in blood. The spirit didn’t rest easily, dissipating in a burning burst of energy, so his sleeves are charred as well. Now that the innkeeper has left for the night, he supposes it makes sense to change. He knows Wei Ying will likely be out for a few more hours, maybe until daylight, but it still feels strangely vulnerable to strip down in the same room. They’ve lodged together on the road, but that was years ago now. However many hours Wei Ying spends in the jingshi with him at Cloud Recesses, he always sleeps and bathes in the guest’s quarters. Lan Wangji hates it, but he hasn’t figured out the right way to— What? Ask him what?

He sighs and folds the ruined robes over and over in his hands, running his fingers over the drying stain. He remembers the moment, nearly twenty years ago now in Nightless City, stripping off his robe to bind his bleeding arm. But that had been his own blood, and Wei Ying had died. Now it’s the opposite.

He doesn’t realize he’s weeping until his hands blur before his eyes. This he is allowed. He has a few hours before Wei Ying wakes.

---

When Wei Ying does wake, it’s with a gasp and a roll half off the bed.

“Lan Zhan!” he cries out, reaching blindly out in front of him, and Lan Wangji barely manages to grab him from his position keeping vigil next to the bed.

“Wei Ying! Wei Ying, be still. Lay back. It’s alright.”

“The spirit, the girl, she—” he grabs and Lan Wangji’s arms but looks past him frantically.

“It’s over. She’ll be fine. The spirit is eliminated. Please don’t move, Wei Ying, you’re hurt.”

Wei Ying allows himself to be guided back down on the bed, looking around the room and finally feeling at the bandage on his abdomen, the one on his jaw.

“Lan Zhan,” he breathes, finally looking up at him. “You’re here.”

Lan Wangji perches on the edge of the bed, letting his arms be held a little longer.

“Yes.”

“How did you— How?”

“You wrote to me. Said you were coming to Moling and I— And then I heard you whistling, I heard the song and I—”

“Saved me. As usual,” Wei Ying grins and flinches when it pulls at his jaw. “How did you know I’d be in trouble? How do you always know?”

“I don’t always. I— Got lucky. Your sealing talismans are very good. I had to blast down a wall to get in.”

“Ah, the poor Lius. I suppose I owe them a new house.”

“You don’t owe anyone anything.”

Wei Ying smiles at him and tries to sit up. “Can you— The cushions, I want to look at you.”

Lan Wangji’s stomach flips and lightens and he reaches around to arrange the cushions under Wei Ying’s back.

“Such accommodation!” Wei Ying laughs. “A person could get used to this.”

“You don’t need to get stabbed to be treated nicely, you know.”

“Lan Zhan, ah! You’re teasing me.”

He’s really not, but he smiles anyway. Wei Ying is alive, he feels like he could smile for hours.

Wei Ying’s breath catches, and Lan Wangji quickly looks him over, wishing he could ease the pain.

“You came to Moling,” Wei Ying says after a moment. “Why? Has something happened?”

Lan Wangji thinks for a moment. All of his instincts tell him to deflect, avoid. It’s nothing. And errand. Chief Cultivator business. I received an urgent message and then broke all laws of time to come find you.

But he’s felt Wei Ying’s blood over his fingers, held his body together. He’s lost him once already, and the overwhelming fear he’d felt makes everything else seem... far less frightening.

“I came to meet you.” It’s worth the admission for the sunrise smile over Wei Ying’s face. He has an infinite number of smiles, but this is Lan Wangji’s favorite. The one that says Lan Wangji has surprised and delighted him, has brought him joy. He could be banished to a dark cave, cut off from the sky until the end of his days, but if he had that smile he’d have all the warmth and light he needs to survive.

“I’m not—” he’s not sure how to continue. There’s so much to say, but at the same time it’s so simple. “Lan Xichen will take over my duties as Chief Cultivator.”

Wei Ying’s eyebrows fly upwards. “What happened? Lan Zhan, it shouldn’t matter that he outranks you, you are the greatest—”

“I asked him to.” Here he goes again, interrupting. Wei Ying falls silent and stares at him, very, very still.

“I asked him to. Because I— hate it.”

Wei Ying grins again, then laughs. “Lan Zhan!”

“I hate it, it’s horrible. Everyone is— I hate it.”

Wei Ying’s laughter bubbles up around him like a spring—not a cold one, pleasantly warm and intoxicating. He shakes Lan Wangji’s arms, throwing his head back against the cushions. “Lan Zhan! Hanguang Jun, look at you! Doing what you want! Letting go of responsibility! I’m so proud I could cry.”

Lan Wangji feels his face heat, but he lets himself smile again.

“Look at you,” Wei Ying says again, so softly and fondly it nearly stops Lan Wangji’s heart. “You look happy.”

“I am happy,” he says. “Wei Ying is alive.”

Wei Ying waves a hand. “This is nothing. I would have figured something out.”

Lan Wangji is about to protest, but he feels Wei Ying’s other hand slide down to grab his own, tightly. Thank you, it feels like. “Of course you would have,” he says, and Wei Ying grins up at him.

“So what are you going to do now?”

Lan Wangji stares at him. Is it not obvious? Is he not— Would he not be welcome? He starts to rise, to pull away.

“Wait, no, why? Where are you going? Don’t go.”

He pauses in an awkward half-crouch. “I thought— When you wrote to me, you said you...” You’ve already lost him once. He steels himself and sits back down. “I would stay with Wei Ying. If he will have me.”

Wei Ying sucks in a breath and sits up as much as he can. “With me? Where?”

“Wherever. One the road. In Cloud Recesses. At Lotus Pier. Anywhere.”

Wei Ying’s eyes flicker over his face, wide and searching. “With me?”

Lan Wangji nods. “If you—”

“Of course! Lan Zhan, of course I— That’s all I want. How can you ask—?”

He hasn’t realized how nervous he’d been until the relief pours over him like bathwater. He’s smiling again, he’s sure, and Wei Ying is laughing, and nothing in the world exists that could stop him from kissing that laughter.

Wei Ying’s breath stutters, but he doesn’t pull away. Lan Wangji is amazed that this doesn’t feel like a risk. Perhaps he should be worried that he lacks skill, experience, but he doesn’t care. Wei Ying’s hands come up to frame his face and he lets himself sink forward, deeper, lighter, all things at once.

When Wei Ying tries to rise to meet him, he cries out.

“Careful! Careful, Wei Ying, ah, don’t push.”

“But I want to! I want everything, Lan Zhan, I want—”

“I know.” He thinks if he smiles much more his face might stick this way, and he’d hardly mind. “I know, Wei Ying, but we have time.”

“Time, ha! Damn all the spirits in Heaven and Hell.” He sinks back into the cushions, trying to even out his breathing but breaking into delighted laughter and pulling Lan Wangji’s hands in to his chest.

“We have all the time in the world,” Lan Wangji murmurs, kissing his jaw, his cheek, his eyebrow.

“How do you know?” Wei Ying’s voice is a delicate thing, his fingers twisting tighter.

“The world owes us,” Lan Wangji says, with more certainty than he’s ever felt before. “After everything, after all we’ve done and fought and given. It owes us this.”

END OF EPISODE

#assorted writings #the untamed #cql #listen i stayed up until 3am to write this #fluff

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moon--vixen · 5 years

Photo

Today, June 28th 2019 around noon, my baby boy Kit passed away in my arms. He was 17 human years old, 95 cat years old. He outlived his kidneys, but he hung on for two days, so we could prepare and give him the end he deserved.

Today, I’d like to share the life of the little angel that changed mine forever.

Some time in October 2002, when I was 9 years old, my Mother and I walked into a pet store we’d never been to before, and right at the front doors was a large cage holding one mother cat and a full litter of kittens, all around 5 months old.

The one little black kitten caught my eye, and in that instant I knew. I knew he was meant to be mine. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I begged my Mother to let me hold him, and she eventually agreed. The store clerk opened the door and let me pick him up, and he instantly melted in my arms, and completely stole my heart. He was completely and utterly relaxed, and even though I was a complete stranger, he was completely at peace letting me cradle him in my arms like a baby, looking up at me with the most beautiful green eyes I had ever seen.

I knew in that moment that I couldn’t leave the store without him. I just couldn’t. I begged my Mother to let me have him, but she worried about the logistics of introducing two cats in a very cramped two bedroom apartment that already had 3 people and a 2 year old cat that was notorious for not liking other animals.

She eventually forced me to leave him behind for the night, assured by the store clerks that he would still be there tomorrow. I spent the rest of the day making my case. He’s a black cat, we love black cats. His (temporary) name is Uncle Fester, Wednesday and Morticia Addams were my role models and the Addams Family movies were our favorites to watch around Halloween, alongside Hocus Pocus. And once I pointed out to her how he let me hold him, how relaxed he was, she too was convinced, and it was time to tackle convincing Dad.

But that too didn’t take long. He captured all our hearts, and the next day I walked out of the store with my sweet boy, whom we renamed Kit, after the witches’ familiar from the TV show Charmed. A name I very quickly came to love and took as my own nickname, leading to many funny looks when I would talk about him.

One of the first things we did upon getting him home was give him a bath. The cage he had been in was small, but tall, but it seemed only the mother cat ever left the bottom half. Holding a litter of at least 8 kittens, there was only one small litter box and one food and water bowl. My sweet baby had poop dried on the end of his tail and old food all over his feet.

He didn’t mind the bath. He was so curious about the water, and even played with it, splashing around in it and exploring.

Our other cat, Tiggeriss, knew something was up, and she clawed and hissed at the door. It seemed Mother’s worries were well founded. We couldn’t keep them apart. He was curious about her, and she, the Queen Bee of the house, demanded loudly to be made aware of who had entered her kingdom.

We couldn’t get in or out without them trying to dart in or out. Eventually, we put him back in the carrier and brought it into the tiny living room. Tiggeriss was on it in a second, sniffing wildly. I opened the carrier and he walked straight out, innocent little boy that he was. but in that moment, magic happened.

She hissed at him, and in an instant he plopped over onto his side and exposed his belly to her, submitting to her completely. She sniffed him for a bit, and began giving him a bath.

20 minutes later, they were curled up together taking a nap, like they’d known each other their whole lives. Inseparable, as they’d be for the next 17 years.

He fit into our family perfectly, though it still took some adjusting. We had a black mat at the front door, and often on our way out we’d see nothing but two little green eyes looking back at us, the void swallowing the rest of him whole.

Tiggeriss was still always the Queen Bee, but she clearly considered him her son and treated him as such. When they’d eat, she’d let him have any extra of hers he wanted. When we tried playing with her, all strategic and allowing her to track and hunt the toy, he’d come plowing in like the silly little kitten he was and go nuts.

But it also went the other way. Tig hates car rides, panicking every time we have to take her somewhere. She’d scream and yowl and pace around the car staring out every winder desperate for an escape. But Kit? He was as calm as he ever was. On trips where we’d have to hit the highway he’d get a little car sick at first, but otherwise he stayed calm, and that in turn kept her calm.

We moved into a nice house, and bought them a brand new large scratching post, one twice as tall as I was, and almost still is. They loved it, of course. and it still sits beside me as I write this now, showing all the love it’s gotten for the last 17 years.

He was the snuggliest, most affectionate baby. His relaxed and trusting nature never wavered, even around rowdy children. My friends dubbed him “Mush”, for how he would just melt in your arms without a care in the world, and “Mr. Underfoot” for how he’d always follow you around, and constantly be “underfoot” and in the way, just to be around you more.

And he was always, so, so curious. Always wanting to discover new things, new smells, new experiences. Seemingly he’d forget about his exciting adventures the year before, so every winter he’d discover snow all over again.

He became our wonderful Halloween cat, always enjoying being outside and seeing all the kids coming around with us. Sometimes it’d get to be a bit overwhelming, but he’d still enjoy sitting inside the glass door and watching. He was the best living Halloween decoration we ever had.

My Father, who always claimed to dislike cats and felt dogs were so much better, warmed up to him very quickly, deciding Kit was his cat. We would playfully argue about it often, fighting over who got to lay claim to the cat he didn’t want in the first place.

His days were spent ether on Dad’s bed, my bed, or at the foot of my recliner, snuggling with my feet or in my lap, when he wasn’t playing with one of us or Tig.

He was the most loving cat you’d ever meet. I was always horribly bullied in school. I always assumed that if my classmates themselves didn’t kill me, the stress would. I never bothered to think about my future because I assumed I’d never have one. I had resigned myself to a short life, but then I’d come home to his squeaky little meow, the meow that never deepened no matter how old he got because he was neutered a little too early. And I knew I’d be ok. I had to be. I couldn’t leave him behind. He needed me and loved me and I refused to die on him or Tiggeriss, no matter how bad things got.

Because I knew, as soon as I looked into his eyes, those eyes that loved me unconditionally, who didn’t care about me being gay, or my terrible pimples, who didn’t think I was stupid and ugly and worthless, and I knew that was all that mattered. HE was all that mattered.

Those big, beautiful green eyes, gems adorning the velveteen little rumbling furnace that was our beloved never ending ball of fluff.

In fact, we even got a very nice, fancy comb we were warned was so good it was known to cause a balled spot if we combed him in the same spot too much.

We tried once, just to see if we could. We never made a single dent in his fur, no matter how hard we tried.

And his fur was the softest thing I’ve ever felt. It was like owning a large chinchilla, lost in the void of a starless night. Soft, and shiny, with a rumbling motor boat underneath that you could hear from the other side of the room, especially when he got chin scritches, his favorite place for affection.

Once he hit late adulthood, he developed arthritis. It became hard for him to walk and climb, which meant he spent more time snuggling with one of us than he did playing and exploring anymore, but he seemed to get just as much comfort out of it as we did. He always knew when one of us needed a snuggle, like when I got home after having my wisdom teeth removed. I crashed in my chair instantly, but according to Mom, he climbed right up with me and curled up under my arm and napped with me all day.

No matter how much changed as he aged, how active he was, how well he could walk, how aware he was of himself and his surroundings, some things never changed.

He still loved making things difficult because he just wanted to be close to you,

He still loved lying in the sun and munching on the grass just outside our home,

He and Tig would still climb all over me when morning rolled around and they were hungry,

He still loved his favorite spot next to me on my bed,

And snuggling with his loved ones. Even on his last days.

He knew the end was near. When we took him to the emergency vet, she said she was shocked he was still alive, as he was in such bad shape he could go at any moment. He could have just as easily died the night before, but he hung on. He hung on one more night for us. So we could prepare, so I could have one more night with him in my arms. Just one more night.

And there is nothing in the world I am more thankful for than him, and the love he showed me for the last 17 years.

Rest in peace my angel.

You will forever be loved, and never, ever forgotten.

#personal #my angel #my cats #mostlycatsmostly #thank you so much Kit #for everything you did for me #my only wish is that you knew just how much you meant to us #how loved you will always be #I will never forget you and the love you shared with me #you made life worth living #and I will always honor that in your memory #I will continue to live life to the fullest just as you did #with the same pure love and unwavering kindness you shared with us #rest my love #you have more than earned it

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calumcest · 4 years

Text

you and i were fireworks that went off too soon - chapter three

[ao3]

yes its me back AGAIN with another chapter imagine i took 5 years off writing fic altogether and now im churning out like 7k a day procrastination truly is the biggest motivator on the planet now i can cheat myself into feeling productive when really my dissertation is still...how u say...unwritten

The boiler is fixed a week later, and Luke returns home.

Despite the fact he’s always lived in this apartment alone, it feels oddly quiet without Calum shouting at him from the kitchen every five minutes and a dog pawing at his ankles for food every two hours. Luke, in all his twenty-six-year-old wisdom, decides that the obvious solution to this temporary loneliness, rather than waiting it out, is to get a dog himself.

“Look,” Calum coos, because Luke (in all his twenty-six-year-old wisdom), has decided to ask the biggest dog-lover on the planet to accompany him to the shelter to pick out one (one) dog. “This one’s so cute.”

“You’ve said that about the last seven,” Luke says. The shelter employee accompanying them laughs.

“That’s because they’re all cute,” Calum says, smiling big and soft at the little puppy sniffing at his finger excitedly. “You should get them all.” Luke rolls his eyes.

“That’s a great idea,” he deadpans, knowing Calum’s barely listening to him anyway. “My four-room apartment is ideal for seven dogs.”

“Exactly,” Calum says absent-mindedly, moving on to the next dog and grinning widely at it. “Hey, little man. This one’s adorable, Luke.”

“Do you think any dogs aren’t adorable?” Luke asks, partially exasperated, partially genuinely curious.

“There’s no such thing as a non-cute dog,” Calum says, and he crouches down to get as close to a corgi’s eye level as a six-two grown man can get. Luke’s got to admit, this one is pretty cute, wagging its little tail and gazing up at them with what almost looks like a smile. Its tail starts wagging harder when Luke crouches down next to Calum, and, unlike the previous seven dogs, it elects to walk over to Luke rather than Calum.

“I think you’ve found your guy,” Calum says, straightening back up again. “What is he, a corgi mix?”

“A pomeranian-corgi mix,” the employee confirms. “He’s called Clifford.” Luke looks at Calum in horror, and Calum bursts out laughing.

“I can change his name, right?” Luke says, because he doesn’t know the intricacies of dog ownership. He’s not sure whether he, like, needs to appeal to court to change his dog’s name, or something.

“Well, technically, yes,” the employee says, “but Clifford’s pretty resistant to change. We tried changing it to Chester and he refused to respond.” Luke looks back at Clifford, who’s still wagging his tail, tongue out, looking decidedly pleased with himself. Luke’s heart kind of melts.

“Right,” he says. “I mean. I guess I can just live with the embarrassment of having a dog named after Michael, right?” He directs the last bit at Calum, who shrugs, still grinning.

“Your call, dude,” he says gleefully, because he’s a terrible friend. Luke sighs, casting another glance at Clifford.

“You’re going to be the death of me, little man,” he says, and Clifford paws at the cage.

-------

“He’s called what?” Michael says, half in disbelief, half in delight.

“Fuck you,” Luke says, as Clifford sniffs at Michael’s ankles curiously. Michael bends down, scratching behind Clifford’s ears.

“Hey, buddy,” he says. “You’re my son, d’you know that?” Clifford’s eyes close and he pushes into Michael’s touch.

“Get your own dog,” Luke says, tugging on Clifford’s lead gently. Clifford refuses to budge.

“I might,” Michael says. “Clifford needs a sibling.”

“He’s not your fucking son,” Luke says, tugging again, and finally Clifford trots back to heel and settles down, resting his head on Luke’s foot.

“Don’t swear in front of my kid,” Michael says, smiling fondly at Clifford.

“I hate you,” Luke says, because he does.

-------

Having a dog is a lot like what Luke imagines living with Michael is like, so maybe Clifford is aptly named.

Clifford follows Luke from room to room, paws at the sofa until Luke lets him on, glares at Luke when he’s playing Xbox until he makes room in his lap for Clifford to sit, and starts making whining noises when he thinks it’s been too long since he last ate (which is, like, every half an hour).

“I’m trying to work, little man,” Luke says one Saturday morning in late November, when Clifford sets himself down on Luke’s feet and glowers at him for having a laptop in his lap. Clifford makes a noise of disdain. “You can sit next to me, but I need to keep this roof over our heads.” He pats the sofa next to him, and Clifford gives him one final reproachful look before trotting over to the sofa and pawing at it. Luke leans over the laptop to pick him up, because he knows better than to take the laptop off his lap and give Clifford a chance to worm his way in, and Clifford curls up next to Luke, staring across the room at the door to the hallway.

Luke manages to work for another hour and a half, ignoring Clifford’s dramatic sighs (seriously, who fucking knew dogs could be drama queens?), before he can’t concentrate on anything other than his growling stomach anymore and sets his laptop aside. Clifford, who’s been dozing for at least twenty minutes, immediately jolts upright and pads into Luke’s lap, curling up and resting his head on Luke’s thigh.

“Not now, little man,” Luke says, picking Clifford up gently and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I need to make us lunch.” He sets Clifford down on the floor and stands up, stretching as he walks into the kitchen, Clifford hot on his heels.

Calum had told him to make sure he makes his own food first before feeding Clifford, because apparently the alpha eats first, or something, so Luke flips the kettle on, chucks a few handfuls of pasta into a pot and puts the ready-made bolognese sauce he’d bought into a separate pot to heat up. Clifford knows the routine by now, so he just settles down near his food bowl, closing his eyes.

Luke’s a pretty quick eater, so Clifford gets his food about twenty minutes later while Luke’s washing up his pots. When Clifford’s finished, lapping at the water in his bowl noisily, Luke heads back into the living room and picks his laptop back up again. Clifford follows a few moments later, and this time doesn’t complain about Luke working when Luke picks him up and sets him down at his side, petting him absent-mindedly as he reads a report.

By four, Luke’s concentration has gone again, so he closes his laptop and stretches. Clifford stretches next to him and then jumps off the sofa, wagging his tail expectantly.

“Alright,” Luke says. “Get your lead.” Clifford spins excitedly in a circle for a moment before running off to the hallway, tearing back in the door a moment later with his lead trailing along the floor behind him. Luke bends down, and Clifford sits still as he waits for Luke to clip the lead to his collar. He lets Luke tug on his shoes and then starts pulling on the lead a little impatiently while Luke searches for his keys.

“You’ll be the one complaining if we get locked out, Cliff,” Luke says, a tad irritably, when Clifford pulls a little harder after two minutes of Luke trying to find his keys. He eventually finds them in his jacket pocket, and sets off, locking the door behind him.

It’s nice outside, and Luke tilts his face into the sun as they make their way to the park. It’s only a short distance away, and Clifford patiently waits at the kerbs of the two roads they have to cross which makes the journey a lot easier for Luke. Once they’re in the park, Clifford beelines for the dog park, making Luke quicken his pace a little to keep up. He hops excitedly in front of the gate as Luke fumbles with the latch on it, and as soon as there’s a sliver of a gap he forces his way through, causing the lead to get caught on the railings as he twists his way through.

“Cliff, you fucking idiot,” Luke says, unhooking the lead where it’s got caught and slipping into the dog park himself, shutting the gate behind him. “Sit, I’ll let you off.” Clifford sits, vibrating with excitement, and the minute the lead is unclipped from his collar he’s tearing off to join the other dogs running around the middle of the park.

Luke ambles over to one of the wooden benches, away from other people - making small talk with dog owners gets a little painful after a while, he’s found - and settles down, keeping an eye on Clifford and making sure he’s not getting involved in anything too rough with any of the bigger dogs. He’s so caught up in watching Clifford that he doesn’t notice someone sitting down next to him until they clear their throat, making Luke throw them a glance.

And his stomach drops, because fucking hell. It’s Ashton.

“Hi,” Ashton says, offering Luke a small, almost nervous smile.

“What are you doing here?” Luke asks stupidly, because in his mind, Ashton’s not supposed to be anywhere Luke is.

“Walking my dog,” Ashton says. “What are you doing here?”

“Walking mine.” Ashton frowns, looking out at the pack of dogs running around, like he’s trying to pick Luke’s out from the group. Luke looks over too, because Ashton being here means Spot’s here somewhere, and he always liked Spot.

“You have a dog?” Ashton says, and he sounds kind of uneasy about it. Luke kind of relishes it; it’s solid proof that Ashton doesn’t know Luke anymore, and it doesn’t sit well with him.

“Obviously.” Ashton says nothing to that for a while, and they sit in incredibly tense, awkward silence.

“How have you been?” Ashton says eventually, and Luke snorts.

“We’re not doing small talk, Ashton,” he says. The name rolls off Luke’s tongue a little easier than it had the first time, a month ago, and something about that sets his teeth on edge.

“Jesus, alright,” Ashton mutters. “I’m just trying to be polite.”

“Well, don’t.” Out of the corner of his eye, Luke sees Ashton roll his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything else.

After another five painfully slow minutes have passed, Luke’s had enough. He gets up, fumbling with the lead in his hand, and shouts: “Clifford!”

“You named your dog after Michael?” Ashton asks from behind him. Luke scowls as Clifford comes bounding over, but his stomach flips uncomfortably. It’s yet another reminder that Ashton knows more about him than he’d like, that he still knows little things like his best friend’s surname.

“No,” he says, bending down and clipping Clifford’s lead onto his collar. “He was called Clifford when I got him.”

“Oh,” Ashton says. “Like the big red dog? Kind of a shitty name for a tiny corgi.” Luke’s scowl deepens.

“He’s a pomeranian-corgi mix,” he says, a little venomously, “and yours is called fucking Spot .” He gives in to Clifford’s puppy eyes, petting him briefly before straightening up.

“She’s got spots,” Ashton says defensively.

“She’s a dalmatian.”

“Exactly.” Luke rolls his eyes.

“I’m not taking any fucking criticism from someone who names a dalmatian Spot,” he says.

“It’s a good fucking name for a dalmatian,” Ashton says, getting up from the bench too. “Spot!”

Spot comes zooming out of the group of dogs, a blur of black and white, but doesn’t head for Ashton. Instead, she beelines for Luke with her tail wagging harder than he thinks he’s ever seen it go. She jumps up at him before she even reaches him, trying to lick every inch of his body, and Luke can’t help but laugh as he tells her down, Spot, down and tries to pet her.

“She’s missed you,” Ashton remarks. Luke doesn’t take the bait, just pats Spot on the head one last time before turning to Clifford, who’s trotted up to Spot, intrigued.

“C’mon, little man,” he says, but Spot’s just noticed Clifford at her feet and is also taking a great interest in him. The two of them sniff each other for a moment, and then their tails start wagging, and Clifford’s face breaks into what Luke always swears is a grin, and Michael always tells him is probably a doggy cry for help. “C’mon, Cliff.”

“Heel, Spot,” Ashton says, like he’s trying to prove Spot’s better-trained than Clifford, or something. Spot, though, doesn’t budge.

“Heel,” Luke tells Clifford sternly, because fuck Ashton, and Clifford trots to Luke’s feet, albeit a little reluctantly. Luke can’t help but feel a little smug as Ashton gives up, leaning over to clip Spot’s lead to her as she gazes up at Luke, panting happily. Luke gives her one absolutely final pat on the head, because he has kind of missed her too.

“Alright,” Luke says, a little uncomfortable, because he has no idea how to say goodbye to someone he never wanted to see again.

“See you,” Ashton says, and it’s written all over his face that he knows what Luke’s thinking. Luke snorts.

“Hopefully not,” he says, but it’s not mean. It’s just honest.

Ashton smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Well, see you not, then,” he says.

“See you not,” Luke agrees, and sets off out of the park.

It only occurs to him when he’s waiting to cross the road that he’s just had a semi-civil conversation with Ashton, and it sends a bewildering flash of confusion, anger and embarrassment coursing through his veins.

Whatever, he thinks, as Clifford trots off when the light turns green. It's not like he's going to see Ashton again, so it doesn't matter.

-------

“What are your plans on Thursday?” Calum asks him on Tuesday afternoon. Luke shrugs, trying to adjust the settings on his fan. It’s too fucking hot in here.

“Dinner, TV, wanking,” Luke says, fiddling with the controls. “Why?”

“Come to dinner,” Calum says, and there’s an edge of something a little nervous to his tone. Luke looks up at him with a frown.

“Why?” he asks, suspicious. Calum hesitates for a moment, like he’s not sure whether he should tell Luke, but then he sighs.

“Mike and I want to talk to you,” he says. Luke looks away again, staring steadfastly at the fan.

He’s known this talk was going to come for a long time. Every time he makes a comment about their soulmate status and then clams up when they try and broach the topic, he sees them exchange a Look, a Soulmate Look (or maybe just a Michael And Calum Look). They’re careful to avoid talking about it when Luke’s around, to keep the touches and looks to a minimum, but the minimum is still enough for it to be painfully obvious what they are and that Luke’s not a part of it.

“Fine,” Luke says eventually, reluctant, because it’s been nearly three months since they found out and they still haven’t spoken about it, and even Luke has to admit that at some point, it’s going to start impacting their friendship unless they all lay their cards on the table. Calum makes a noise of relief, like he hadn’t expected Luke to be so easy to convince.

“Seven?” he says. Luke nods tightly, twisting the bottom of the fan in annoyance at both it and Calum, and it finally starts fucking whirring.

“I saw Ashton at the weekend,” he says after a moment, because he feels a little guilty and anything is a better topic of conversation than the uncomfortable silence they’ve lapsed into.

“You what ?” Calum sounds aghast.

“By accident,” Luke says hurriedly. “I was walking Cliff, and he was in the dog park.”

“Right,” Calum says, concern still colouring his tone. “Did you talk to him?”

“He talked to me,” Luke says.

“What did he say?” Luke shrugs.

“Tried to make small talk,” he says. “Insulted Cliff’s name.” Calum looks torn, because he usually never misses an opportunity to insult Clifford’s name, but clearly thinks now is not the right moment.

“How did you leave it?” he settles on eventually. Luke can see the self-restraint it’s taking him to not say Clifford is a shitty dog name, to be fair . Maybe this is a good tactic to get Calum to stop making fun of Luke; next time Calum jokes about how long Luke takes to get ready in the mornings, Luke’s going to tell him Ashton said the same thing.

“He said see you, and I said hopefully not,” Luke says. Calum nods, satisfied.

“Good,” he says. “Have you seen him there since?” Luke shakes his head, and hesitates, before telling Calum he’s not actually been to the dog park since Saturday. Calum frowns.

“Why not?” he asks. Luke shrugs, a little uncomfortable, fiddling with the settings on the fan again. His face is heating up, and he’s pretty sure it’s just because it’s too fucking hot in here.

“Don’t want to bump into him,” he says. Calum gives him a long look, and Luke tries not to lose his composure under his steely gaze.

“You shouldn’t let him change your routine, Luke,” Calum says seriously.

“I know,” Luke says, picking at a stray thread in his sleeve. “It’s just- it’s easier.” Calum says nothing for a moment, and then sighs.

“He’s going to think he has an effect on you,” he says, and it’s a little patronising.

“He does,” Luke mutters. “He pisses me the fuck off.”

“You know what I mean.” And Luke does, and that pisses him off too.

“Whatever,” he says, turning back to his computer and clicking on the email in his inbox that looks easiest to deal with. “My problem, not yours.” It’s mean, it’s uncalled for, and Calum doesn’t deserve it, and Luke feels a pang of guilt as soon as he says it, but he can’t swallow his pride to apologise.

Calum doesn’t say anything, which Luke kind of thinks is worse than if he’d just taken the bait and risen to the argument Luke’s sort of spoiling for, and they sit in silence for the rest of the afternoon.

-------

Thursday comes too soon.

Luke brings Clifford, partially because he doesn’t want to leave him alone for two hours and partially as a shield or an excuse to leave, but as soon as he lets himself into Calum’s flat with the key he’d been given when Calum moved in Clifford tears off, lead trailing behind him, to find Duke.

“Hey, son,” he hears Michael say to Clifford, and scowls.

“Come back, little man,” Luke shouts, kicking his shoes off. Reluctantly, Clifford comes back around the corner, and Luke bends down to give him a quick scratch and unclips his lead. Clifford doesn’t hesitate, running back into the living room to find Duke, who’s probably sleeping and doesn’t want to be disturbed by an over-excited three-year-old dog. Luke hangs the lead up on top of his jacket and trails after Clifford, finding Michael on his own in the living room playing MarioKart.

“Hi,” he says, setting himself down on the sofa heavily. There’s an uncomfortable atmosphere that he’s not used to having with Michael and Calum, not since Year Nine when they both hated his guts.

“Hey,” Michael says nonchalantly, not looking away from the screen, but it’s too casual. Luke’s stomach flips, and he swallows.

“Cal in the kitchen?” Michael nods. Great. Now he’s making awkward small talk with his own best friends.

Luke watches Michael play for a few minutes, one eye on Clifford to make sure he’s not annoying Duke too much, and then Calum comes out of the kitchen and declares that dinner’s ready and they all shuffle to the table, dogs in tow with hopeful looks on their faces.

They make idle, awkward chat while serving themselves, Calum and Luke filling Michael in on this stupid fucking client they had to deal with last week, and everybody’s uncomfortable because it’s stringing out the inevitable but none of them want to be the one to bring up the elephant in the room.

Eventually, though, Michael sighs, and puts his fork down.

“This is stupid,” he says, and Luke privately agrees. “Can we just talk?” Calum shoots Luke a worried glance, and Jesus, Luke wishes they would stop acting like he’s going to fucking break if they talk about it.

“Yeah,” Luke says. “Let’s just get this over with.” It’s a little barbed, and he feels bad when Calum’s shoulders slump a little, because he is happy for them, he is, he’s just also selfishly unhappy that the three of them are now officially Michael-and-Calum and Luke rather than just unofficially.

“Okay,” Michael says. “So. Calum and I are soulmates.” Luke nods, putting a forkful of beans into his mouth so he won’t have to say anything.

“We want you to know it’s not going to change anything between us,” Calum says, and Luke chokes, half on a mirthless laugh, half on his beans. With a little difficulty, he swallows, takes a sip of water, and then speaks.

“That’s not true,” he says. “It has to change things between us. It’s already changed things between us.”

“You know what we mean,” Michael says. Luke doesn’t like the we , the us and you implication. That’s exactly what he’s talking about. “We’ll still be best friends.”

“We want this to be an honest conversation,” Calum says. “All cards on the table.”

“ All cards on the table?” Luke says, flicking a glance at Michael, who knows firsthand how spiteful Luke can be. Calum’s never had an argument with Luke like The Great Bedroom Bust-Up of 2019. Michael holds his gaze, and nods.

“Okay,” Luke says. “You first.” Calum and Michael exchange another glance, some kind of unspoken soulmate conversation that Luke can never be a part of. A pang of something a bitter and painful hits him when he realises that not only can he never be a part of it, he can never have it himself, because his soulmate is fucking Ashton . He’s never going to have this, and, not for the first time, he lets himself admit that it’s the majority of what makes it hurt so much.

“Okay,” Calum says carefully. “I’ll just speak for myself. You know I’ve been in love with Michael since- well, uh, as long as I can remember. That’s nothing new. What’s new is that I know Michael’s in love with me too. And, uh, that we’re sort of together now? That’s new.” And yeah, it is new, because Luke hadn’t even known about that. Sure, he’d guessed, with all the hushed conversations and Calum calling Michael love like it was the easiest thing in the world, but it’s somehow different hearing confirmation of it. It stings more than he’d hoped it would. “Other than that, nothing’s changed. I still love you. You’re still my best friend, Michael’s still my best friend.” Calum pauses, clearly waiting for Luke to say something, but Luke just shrugs. He hasn’t got anything to say to that.

“We’re not going to be all couple-y around you,” Michael says. “We know this isn’t the most ideal situation. But we’re not going to keep tiptoeing around you like we have been, so you’ve got to stop being an arsehole and actually support us. This is it now. This is how it is forever.”

Luke has to swallow back the bile rising in his throat at that, at how easy it is for Michael and Calum to throw around words like forever. He only just manages to bite back a spiteful well, how do you know that? Ashton and I didn’t work out, and we’re soulmates , but Michael can see it on his face.

“All cards on the table,” he reminds Luke.

“This isn’t going to work if we don’t get it all out,” Calum adds. “We’ll just build up resentment otherwise.” And yeah, Luke can kind of see his point, because his resentment’s been building for the past six months already.

“Fine,” Luke says, and it’s a little snappy. “How do you know this is forever? I’m living proof that that’s not always the case.” The words twist in the air between them, Michael and Calum on one side of the table, Luke on the other, and Luke kind of hates himself and kind of hates them.

“It just is,” Michael says simply, like Luke hasn’t just taken a nasty swipe at his relationship.

“I’m not taking sides if it doesn’t work out,” Luke says, partially to drive the point home, partially because it’s something he’s worried about since they first became friends. Some of the most stressful times of his life have been when Michael and Calum have argued and both come running to him, each expecting him to take their side.

“We wouldn’t expect you to,” Michael says smoothly. “But you have to support us in this. I don’t want to have to take sides either.” The I’d choose Calum goes unspoken, but Luke hears it.

“Say it,” he says, because apparently he’s some kind of masochist, and all cards on the table, right? Michael folds his arms. Calum looks like he’s about to cry.

“I’d choose Calum,” Michael says, calm and even. The words cut straight through Luke’s heart, even though he’d known, he’s always known, that he’s second-best to both of them. If it had ever come to it, even before all this tattoo bullshit, neither of them would have chosen Luke.

(He supposes that’s part of the soulmate business, but it doesn’t make it any less shitty.)

“And you?” Luke says, rounding on Calum. He needs to hear it, somehow, needs to hear the brutal honesty, needs to hear their old friendship crumble all the way down before he can rebuild it with a new dynamic.

“Don’t,” Calum says, pleading.

“Say it.” Luke’s tone is hard, but his voice wavers. “I need you to say it, Calum.” Calum swallows, hard, and Luke watches his mouth open and close a few times.

“I’d choose Michael,” he mumbles eventually, and swipes at the corner of his eye. Luke immediately feels like shit. He doesn’t want Calum to cry.

“I’m sorry, Cal,” he says quietly, and he means I’m sorry for all of this, and I’m sorry for making you cry . Calum nods, sniffing a little.

“So you know where we stand,” Michael says, and he’s still calm, collected, put-together. Luke’s a little surprised - he’d expected Michael to be the one to fall to pieces, Calum to be the one to keep the conversation together.

“Yeah,” Luke says, handing his unused napkin over to Calum for him to wipe his eyes. Calum gives him a watery smile. “Guess I know where I stand, too.” Michael looks at him, hard.

“We’ve tiptoed around you for six months, Luke,” he says bluntly. “We’ve put all of this aside for you.” Luke swallows down the guilt that rises at that, because it’s true. They’ve put Luke first the whole time, ever since he found out it was Ashton, until the dinner a few weeks ago. They’ve been careful, they’ve been considerate, and Luke’s been a selfish dickhead, not letting them be who - and what - they are around him.

“I know,” Luke says. “I- I really appreciate that.”

“And?” Michael prompts. Luke sighs.

“It fucking sucks,” he says. “I’ve always been second best to you two. It’s always been you two, and then me. And now that’s just- that’s never going to change. I see the way you look at each other, the way you touch each other, and.” He shrugs. “I’m always going to be an afterthought.” He’s almost willing Michael and Calum to contradict him, but they don’t. It doesn’t sting, though, this time, just a dull throb of hurt that Luke thinks might just actually be disguising his crippling sadness. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for his next words.

“And I- I think my biggest problem is that it hurts. It hurts because I’m never going to have this. I know that’s my problem, not yours, but.” He shrugs again. “You guys really drive it home.” And because all cards on the fucking table , he adds: “It hurts more to be around you guys sometimes than it does to be around Ashton.”

The words ring in the silence of the room. Luke thinks he’s never said anything more hurtful in his life, and also thinks he’s never said anything more honest.

“Okay,” Michael says, and he sounds like he’s upset but trying his best to hide it. “Is that all?” Luke nods. He actually feels a bit better already, underneath all the hurt and confusion and aching sadness, because now they know how he feels and he knows how they feel and they can start to rebuild, start to move forward.

“I’m sorry,” he says, because he is. “But you said all cards on the table.”

“I did,” Michael says.

“I’m glad you can be that honest with us, Luke,” Calum says, still sounding a little thick, and Luke presses his lips together.

“I’m glad you can be honest with me too,” he admits. “I think- I think it shows. That we’re best friends.” It sounds stupid when he says it, like a ten-year-old on the playground, but both Calum and Michael nod sincerely, like that’s exactly what they were thinking. Luke has to blink back the tears that well up in his eyes at that, because fuck, he doesn’t deserve them.

“I love you,” he says, and it comes out helpless. Both Michael and Calum smile at him, and Michael’s eyes suddenly look misty too. “I do. And I really am happy for you two, underneath all of this, I swear. It was the first thought I had when I realised you two were soulmates. I know I’m a selfish cunt. I just- I kind of needed to hear you say our friendship was going to change to accept it, to move on. I’m glad you didn’t lie to me.”

“It’s okay,” Calum says. “Imagine how badly Michael would have coped with it if he’d been third-wheeling you and your soulmate.” All three of them laugh, but it’s choked and teary.

“Fuck you,” Michael says, wiping his eyes.

“You don’t have to tiptoe around me,” Luke says, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “I mean, I think it’ll still take me some getting used to, but that’s my problem. I’m happy for you, and I love you. And I don’t want to be an obstacle anymore.” He’s given up trying to control the tears now, because it’s Michael and Calum, and they’ve seen him in far worse states than this.

(They saw him after Ashton.)

“You were never an obstacle,” Michael says reassuringly, a little choked.

“We made the choice to put you first, Luke,” Calum says, reaching over the table for Luke’s hand. “We might be soulmates, but we’re still nothing without you.” Tears are streaming freely down all of their faces now, and Luke squeezes Calum’s hand like it’s the only thing tying him to the planet. He reaches for Michael with his other hand, laces their fingers together, and sits there for a moment, crying silently with his two best friends.

“I love you,” Calum says. “Both of you.”

“I love you too,” Michael says. “Mostly Luke, but yeah, you’re alright too, Cal.” Luke and Calum huff out shaky laughs at that.

“We look like we’re doing a séance,” Luke says after a moment, when he sees Calum and Michael’s hands intertwined under the table, and Calum and Michael giggle weakly. He puts on a husky voice, and says: “Oh, spirits of third-wheeling, are you out there?” Calum and Michael laugh again, stronger this time, and Luke’s heart warms. They’re okay. They’re going to be okay. Everything is changing, but nothing has changed.

“Shut the fuck up,” Michael says, grinning.

“We should probably feed the dogs,” Calum says, because Clifford and Duke have been huffing every few minutes for about twenty minutes now. Luke nods, and lets go of both Michael and Calum a little reluctantly, despite the fact that Michael had been about two seconds away from crushing his hand.

They all get up, Calum and Luke to feed their respective dogs, Michael to start clearing the table. They’re in sync, they’re working in tandem, and they’re okay.

They’re okay.

-------

Luke hasn’t been back to the dog park since that Saturday.

He’s walked near it, walked past it, almost walked to it, but chickened out at the last minute. Calum’s words echo in his mind every time - you shouldn’t let him change your routine - and he knows, he knows Calum’s right, but Luke’s a bit of a coward and a big fan of taking the easy way out. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t sit uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach, though, every time he turns left instead of right into the park, but Clifford doesn’t seem to mind.

Clifford, Luke has discovered, fucking loves the beach.

It’s not too far from the park to the beach, so Luke’s taken to walking Clifford along the water instead, letting him splash around to his heart’s content in the waves lapping at the shore. Clifford doesn’t even tug in the direction of the park when they set off anymore, just bounces happily along the road to the sand.

Luke tells Calum, one day, who off-hand remarks that he’s never actually taken Duke to the beach, and Luke, once he’s got over his initial shock, says they absolutely have to go. Calum rolls his eyes, and Luke calls Michael to convince him to go and pressure Calum into going - which, in hindsight, not the best idea, because as Michael sensibly points out, he’ll probably get sunstroke before they even make it to the beach. Nevertheless, Michael agrees, and so Calum agrees, and that’s how, a week later, they’re all ambling down the warm pavement to the beach.

“Jesus, I’m fucking boiling,” Michael grumbles, plucking at his shirt.

“It’s December, Mike, what d’you expect?” Luke says, jogging a little to keep up with Clifford. “You’ve lived through twenty-seven of them.”

“Fuck, don’t say that,” Michael groans. “I’m so fucking old.”

“Yeah,” Calum says, with a grin. Duke’s padding along calmly, stopping to sniff at flowers every few minutes, much to Clifford’s chagrin. “I’m your toyboy, now.” Michael scowls.

“Fuck you,” he says, fanning himself wildly. “Fuck. I’m getting in the water as soon as we get there.” Luke rolls his eyes.

“You’re so fucking melodramatic,” he says. “It’s six p.m. It’s not even hot.”

“Alright, just because you got all the Australian genes,” Michael snipes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Luke says.

“Blonde, blue-eyed, ability to surf,” Michael says, waving his hand dismissively, like it’s some kind of an explanation.

“What? I can’t surf,” Luke says.

“Well, you can stand up on a board, can’t you? Same thing.”

“That’s not surfing,” Calum says, shaking his head.

“I’m not taking criticism from you ,” Michael says, because Calum can barely stand up straight on solid ground, as they round the corner and arrive at the beach. The sun is slowly setting, glittering on the water and making them all squint.

“I’m getting in,” Michael declares, tugging his shirt off and flinging it at Calum.

“Me too,” Luke says, before Calum has the chance to say anything. Clifford’s whining, begging to get to the water, and Luke hands Michael his lead for a moment while he wrestles his shirt off his sticky back. He turns his back to Calum, reaching out for Clifford’s lead, but is interrupted by Calum saying:

“You didn’t tell me it’s grown.”

“Huh?” Luke says, turning back to Calum. Calum points at his back.

“The tattoo.” Luke frowns.

“What?”

“It’s grown.” Luke twists, trying to see. Fucking tattoo. Of course he got his on his shoulderblade.

“I can’t- I’m sure it hasn’t,” Luke says. “You’ve only seen it once. You probably just don’t remember.” Michael’s walked over next to Calum, and he’s frowning now, too.

“It’s got a dog on it now,” he says, and Luke scowls.

“Come on, guys,” he says. “This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not joking,” Calum says, and he sounds a little confused and a little worried.

“Do they do that?” Michael says, addressing Calum, like Luke’s not even there. “Do they grow?”

“Mine hasn’t,” Calum says, tilting his head up so the sunlight catches the black ink on his neck.

“Nor mine,” Michael says, turning back to Luke, who’s still trying to see his own shoulderblade in vain. “Here, wait, I’ll take a photo.” Luke stills, slightly grumpy, ready for a ha, ha, guys, I didn’t even believe you, what kind of a joke is that when Michael and Calum inevitably burst out laughing, but it never comes.

Instead, Michael shoves his phone in front of Luke, and Luke grabs it and pulls it closer, because he hasn’t brought his glasses. He cups a hand over the screen, squinting to see, and he can make out the tattoo, dark and swirling on his skin. Waning moon, bird with drumstick - and, shit. Dalmatian, gazing up at the bird.

“Shit,” he says, and he’s panicking, pawing at his back like it’s going to come off. All he can feel under his fingertips is warm skin. “Shit. Fuck. What the fuck? They don’t- they don’t just fucking grow, do they? Is this- is this, like, cancer, or something?”

“What?” Michael says.

“Look it up,” Calum tells Michael, who wrenches his phone back out of Luke’s hands and starts typing furiously.

“Fuck,” Luke says, raking a hand through his hair. “Cal, what the fuck.”

“Hey,” Calum says, soothing, reassuring. Even Clifford seems to have noticed something’s wrong, because he’s whining at Luke’s feet, no longer vibrating at the other end of the lead in Michael’s hand. “It’s okay.”

“It’s- Cal, it’s not- it’s grown ,” Luke says, almost frantic. “It’s not supposed to do that. Yours hasn’t done that.”

“I know,” Calum says, like he wishes he could offer Luke an explanation. Luke stares at him wildly for a moment, and then pulls his own phone out of his pocket.

“What are you doing?” Calum asks.

“Calling Ashton,” Luke says, because deep in his gut, it feels like the only thing to do right now.

“What- Luke, I don’t think that’s a good-” but it’s too late, Luke’s taking a few strides away from Michael and Calum, biting his lip as the dial tone rings.

It cuts out after four rings, to a scrambling and a surprised: “Hello?”

“Hi,” Luke says, and he can hear the panic in his own voice.

“Luke? Are you okay?”

“Has yours grown?” There’s a pause.

“What?”

“Your tattoo. Has it grown?”

“ Grown ?”

“Just answer the fucking question. Is there any more to it?” There’s a rustling sound, then a thud, like Ashton’s getting out of bed.

“Uh, I don’t know, it’s- I can’t really see it unless I look in a mirror, hang on.” There’s the sound of padding footsteps, and Luke stares out at the horizon, watching the sun slowly lower itself into the water, counting the seconds as they pass. “Shit. Shit .” Luke’s stomach sinks.

“It’s grown?”

“Yeah. It’s- what the fuck? Are they meant to do this?”

“I don’t know.”

“I- what the fuck?”

“I don’t fucking know , Ashton.”

“Jesus, alright, don’t bite my fucking head off.” Luke clenches his teeth.

“Fuck you,” he says.

“Fuck me ? Luke, you’re-” But Luke doesn’t stick around to hear what he is, hanging up and traipsing back to Michael and Calum, who are muttering quietly to each other, staring at Michael’s phone screen.

“It’s grown,” he confirms, even though he thinks they all knew that. He didn’t have to call Ashton to confirm it, but somehow, he needed to.

“There’s something, but you’re not going to like it,” Michael says.

“Tell me.”

“There’s been a study,” Calum begins, and Jesus, Luke doesn’t have the time for this. He snatches Michael’s phone out of his hand and reads - study, London, tattoo growth, separate, choice. The words scramble in his mind and he reads the sentences over and over again until they make sense - a study conducted in London, into soulmates who experienced tattoo growth, discovered it occurred when the mates made the active choice to remain separate .

Luke’s stomach lurches, and he feels the blood drain from his face so fast that he goes dizzy, catching Calum’s bicep to steady himself.

“It’s a small study,” Calum says. “Six sets of soulmates. It’s not conclusive.”

“Jesus,” Luke whispers, not even listening, mind racing. “Am I- Am I just going to end up covered in fucking- in tattoos about Ashton ?” Calum bites his lip unhappily. Neither he nor Michael can answer that.

Luke falls into the sand, hard, and Clifford immediately climbs into his lap, sniffing at him, quiet and concerned. Michael and Calum settle down next to him, and Calum wordlessly hands him back his shirt, like he knows Luke wants to pretend it’s not happening. Luke pulls it back on silently, and puts his head in his hands.

“Can I just catch a fucking break?” he mumbles, voice cracking on the last word. Two sets of arms slip around him.

They don’t swim, and Clifford doesn’t get to play in the water, but they get to watch the sun set together, and in between his spiralling thoughts Luke finds the time to think that that’s something.

taglist: @glitterlukey @hey-its-grey

chapter four

#lashton #malum #5sos fic #5sos slash #5sos fanfiction #SORRY im just really feeling this fic for some reason #feeling PROLIFIC #but realistically this will be my last update for a while probably #bc i really do need to get a move on with my diss #9000 words...due on the 4th may...unwritten #i am so unbelievably stupid that i astound myself sometimes #i also have an exam on the 1st may #which OF COURSE i have not revised for #and i have a 2500 word presentation script & slides to submit on monday #is that done? no #oxford and leeds please dont revoke my masters offers based on these tags #i promise i'll be better next year

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